Sunshine Jane Part 11

"Yes, that's what I came for," said Lorenzo, cheerfully, "cookies, jelly-roll,--anything simple and handy. Madeleine and I were out walking, discussing our affairs, and when I stopped for the garden, she went on for her mail. I'm awfully hungry."

"People say you're engaged to her," said Susan. Jane turned to get the tin of cookies.

"Yes, naturally. People say so much. She is a pretty girl, isn't she?--but then there's Emily Mead. I must look at myself on all sides and consider carefully. Old Mr. Cattermole took me to drive yesterday and told me that he was healthy and his dead wife was healthy and that, except for what killed him, Mr. Mead was healthy, too; and there was Emily, perfectly healthy and the only grandchild, and why didn't I come over often,--it wasn't but a step."

"Well, you do beat all," said Susan. Jane offered the tin of cookies.

Lorenzo took six. They were all laughing.

Later, when he'd gone away, Susan said, almost shyly this time: "Jane, I don't want to interfere, but he _is_ in love."

"With Madeleine?"

"With you."

"Auntie," Jane came to her side, "you mustn't speak in that way about me. I can't marry,--not possibly. I'm a Suns.h.i.+ne Nurse, and I shall be a Suns.h.i.+ne Nurse till I die. I'll make homes happy, but I shall never have one of my own."

Susan looked frightened and timid. "But why?"

"For many reasons. And all good ones."

There was that in the young girl's tone that ended the subject for the time being.

But Susan thought of it a great deal, and alone in her room that night, Jane thought, too. She had made herself ready for bed, and then sat down by the window, clasping her hands on the sill. Lorenzo Rath was buoyantly dear and jolly, and she realized that he was the nicest man that she had ever met. It had all been fun, great fun, and she had enjoyed it mightily. But with all her learning Jane was not so very much farther along the Highway to Happiness than some others. In many cases she was only a holder of keys as yet--the distinct knowledge to be gained by unlocking secrets with their aid was as yet not hers. To hold the keys and look at the doors is to realize what power means,--but to unlock is to use it. Jane was still a novice; she left the doors locked and was content to hold the keys, and no more.

The next night Lorenzo appeared again. "I'm half-dead," he said. "I've tramped twelve miles, sketching."

"Dear, dear," said Susan, "seems like n.o.body in this world ever wants what's close to."

"Sometimes it's no use to want what's close to," said Lorenzo, "or else what's close to is like Emily Mead, and you just ache to run."

"Emily Mead is a very nice girl," said Jane, in a tone clearly reproachful.

Lorenzo just laughed. But then Susan made some excuse to slip away. "I wonder if you'd help me a little," he said then, hesitating a bit.

"Is it something that I can do? Of course I'll help you if I can."

"It's something very necessary."

"Necessary?"

"To my welfare and happiness."

"What is it?"

"I think--I'm--falling in love."

"Oh, dear," Jane was carefully tranquil.

"I've never really been in love in my life, so I can't be sure. But I think it's that."

Jane said nothing. The room was getting dark.

"I've never seen any one so pretty in all my life as Miss Mar," said the young artist, slowly. "You know we're old friends."

"Oh, she's lovely," said Jane, with sudden fervor.

"I thought that we might make up little picnics and walks and things?"

hesitated the young man.

"Of course," said Jane, heartily. "And you can come here all you like.

Auntie likes you both so much."

Lorenzo Rath stood by the door. "Were you ever in love?" he asked bluntly.

"No," said Jane. "I've never had the least little touch of it."

"Haven't you ever thought about it?"

"No, I've never had time. I've never seen any man that I could or would marry."

"Never?"

"Never."

"That's too bad," said Lorenzo Rath slowly. "Seems to me you'd make such a splendid wife."

She laughed a little. Then she had to wink quickly to drive back tears which leapt suddenly.

"I won't say any more," said Lorenzo. She thought that he did not care to speak of Madeleine to her.

Then she went. And later she found herself sitting in her own room again, sitting by the same window, thinking. "Poor Emily Mead and her illusory millionaire! I'm about as silly as she is," thought Jane. "And yet I know it's higher and more beautiful to make life lovely for others than to make it lovely for one's self." She sighed because the reflection--all altruistic as it was--was not quite the truth, and she was true enough herself to feel jarred by the slightest cross-shadow of falsehood. Truth plays as widely and freely as the sunbeams themselves and goes as straight to the heart of each and all.

Finally she opened a little book and read aloud a few pages to herself in a low tone. "I know I'm on the right path," she said, when she had closed the book; "the thing is to stick resolutely to keeping on straight ahead. And I must be absolutely content with all that comes.

You have to be content if you're going to grow in goodness, for you have to know that you've been trying and been successful." She sat still a while longer and then rose with a deep, long breath. "Well, to-day's been something, and to-morrow I'll be something better, I know."

The truth did s.h.i.+ne then, and she went to bed calmed, but was hardly stretched down between the cool sheets when Susan rapped at the door.

"Come in."

"Oh, Jane, I can't sleep. I've got to thinking of when Matilda comes back, and I'm scared blue."

CHAPTER VII

A NEW OUTLOOK ON MATILDA