And Jane had
the sense that he had forgotten her. She glanced nervously up at
the window to see whether Selma Gordon was witnessing her
humiliation--for so she regarded it. But Selma was evidently
lost in a world of her own. ``She doesn't love him,'' Jane
decided. ``For, even though she is a strange kind of person,
she's a woman--and if she had loved him she couldn't have helped
watching while he talked with another woman-- especially with one
of my appearance and class.''
Jane rode slowly away. At the corner--it was a long block--she
glanced toward the scene she had just quitted. Involuntarily she
drew rein. Victor and the boy had come out into the street and
were playing catches. The game did not last long. Dorn let the
boy corner him and seize him, then gave him a great toss into the
air, catching him as he came down and giving him a hug and a
kiss. The boy ran shouting merrily into the yard; Victor
disappeared in the entrance to the offices of the New Day.
That evening, as she pretended to listen to Hull on national
politics, and while dressing the following morning Jane reflected
upon her adventure. She decided that Dorn and the ``wild girl''
were a low, ill-mannered pair with whom she had nothing in
common, that her fantastic, impulsive interest in them had been
killed, that for the future she would avoid ``all that sort of
cattle.'' She would receive Selma Gordon politely, of
course--would plead headache as an excuse for not walking, would
get rid of her as soon as possible.
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