[35]She sang it with a light boyish swing of her body. Her voice was girlish and sweet, with a touch of huskiness.

[35]

Baldy flung his scorn at her. “Jane, aren’t you ever in earnest?”

“Intermittently,” she smiled at him, came over and tucked her arm in his. “Baldy,” she coaxed, “aren’t you going to tell her uncle?”

He stared at her. “Her uncle? Tell him what?”

“That you’ve found the bag.”

He flung off her arm. “Would you have me turn traitor?”

“Heavens, Baldy, this isn’t melodrama. It’s common sense. You can’t keep that bag.”

“I can keep it until she answers my advertisement.”

“She may never see your advertisement, and the money isn’t yours, and the ring isn’t.”

He was troubled. “But she trusted me. I can’t do it.”

Jane shrugged her shoulders, and began to clear away the dinner things. Baldy helped her. Old Merrymaid mewed to go out, and Jane opened the door.

“It’s snowing hard,” she said.

The wind drove the flakes across the threshold. Old Merrymaid danced back into the house, bright-eyed and round as a muff. The air was freezing.

“It is going to be a dreadful night,” young Baldwin, heavy with gloom, prophesied. He thought of[36] Edith, in the storm in her buckled shoes. Had she found shelter? Was she frightened and alone somewhere in the dark?

[36]

He went into the living-room, whence Jane presently followed him. Jane was knitting a sweater and she worked while Baldy read to her. He read the full account of Edith Towne’s flight. She had gone away early in the morning. The maid, taking her breakfast up to her, had found the room empty. She had left a note for her uncle. But he had not permitted its publication. He was, they said, wild with anxiety.

“I’ll bet he’s an old tyrant,” was Baldy’s comment.

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