In a reckless mood she went down to see Victor Dorn. ``I am
cured,'' she said to herself. ``I must be cured. I simply can't
be small and silly enough to care for a country town labor
agitator after all I've been through --after the attentions I've
had and the men of the world I've met. I'm cured, and I must
prove it to myself .''
In the side yard Alice Sherrill and her children and several
neighbor girls were putting up pears and peaches, blackberries
and plums. The air was heavy with delicious odors of ripe and
perfect fruit, and the laughter, the bright healthy faces, the
strong graceful bodies in all manner of poses at the work
required made a scene that brought tears to Jane's eyes. Why
tears she could not have explained, but there they were. At far
end of the arbor, looking exactly as he had in the same place the
year before, sat Victor Dorn, writing. He glanced up, saw her!
Into his face came a look of welcome that warmed her chilled
heart.
``Hel-LO!'' he cried, starting up. ``I AM glad to see you.''
``I'm mighty glad to be back,'' said she, lapsing with keen
pleasure into her native dialect.
He took both her hands and shook them cordially, then looked at
her from head to foot admiringly. ``The latest from the Rue de
la Paix, I suppose?'' said he.
They seated themselves with the table between them. She, under
cover of commonplaces about her travels, examined him with the
utmost calmness.
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