now
Kathleen. She is so lovely and so good. I love her." Jane's face was
earnest and grave.

"And so do I, Jane, if I may call you so," said Jack, "and I am going to
try to be worthy of her."

Jane's eyes rested quietly on his face. She made up her mind that it was
an honest face and a face one could trust, but to Jane it seemed as if
something portentous had befallen her friend and she could not bring
herself immediately to accept this new situation with an outburst of
joyous acclaim such as ordinarily greets an announcement of this kind.
For a reason she could not explain her mind turned to the memory she
cherished of her own mother and of the place she had held with her
father. She wondered if this man could give to Kathleen a place so high
and so secure in his heart. While her eyes were on his face Jack could
see that her mind was far away. She was not thinking of him.

"What is it, Jane?" he said gently.

Jane started and the blood rushed to her face. She hesitated, then said
quietly but with charming frankness, "I was thinking of my mother. She
died when I was two years old. Father says I am like her. But I am not
at all. She was very lovely. Kathleen makes me think of her, and father
often tells me about her. He has never forgotten her. You see I think he
loved her in quite a wonderful way, and he--" Jane paused abruptly.

Mrs. Waring-Gaunt rose quietly, came to her side. "Dear Jane, dear
child," she said, kissing her. "That's the only way to love. I am sure
your mother was a lovely woman, and a very happy woman, and you are like
her."

But Jack kept his face turned away from them.

"Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt," cried Jane, shaking her head emphatically,
"I am not the least bit like her. That is one of the points on which I
disagree with father. We do not agree upon everything, you know."

"No? What are some of the other points?"

"We agree splendidly about Kathleen," said Jane, laughing. "Just now we
differ about Germany."

"Aha, how is that?" inquired Jack, immediately alert.

"Of course, I know very little about it, you understand, but last winter
our minister, Mr. McPherson, who had just been on a visit to Germany
the summer before, gave a lecture in which he said that Germany had made
enormous preparations for war and was only waiting a favourable moment
to strike. Papa says that is all nonsense."

"Oh, Jane, Jane," cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "you have struck upon a very
sore spot in this house. Jack