Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/228

 him—I love him dearly, but not—not— No, no; I don’t mean what you think—or, if I do, I must not. Jack, I have promised, don’t you see? And when I thought that perhaps he didn’t care so much, and asked him—oh, I told you how beautifully he answered me, I will never hurt him so, never!”

“It is disgusting, it is horrible; he is twenty-five years older than you—he might be your father!” stormed the voice.

“I—I never cared for young people before!”

Could this be Lady, this shy, faltering girl? Moved by an overmastering impulse, the man behind the summer-house turned his head and looked through the broken wall.

Lady Jane was blushing and paling in quick succession: the waves of red flooded over her moved face and receded like the tide at turn. Her eyes were piteous; her hair fell low over her forehead; she looked incredibly young.