The only outcome, then, of her visit to Eleanor and her subsequent
cogitations, was that Martin, when he came home that night, found her
unusually affectionate and inclined to be misty about the eyes. "I'm
a--lucky guy, all right"--this was her explanation,--"being married to
you. Instead of any of the others."
He was a satisfactory old dear. He took her surplus tenderness as so
much to the good, and didn't bother over not knowing what it was all
about.
Eleanor was right in her surmise that Rose had really taken a fancy to
Jane Lake. She was truly--and really humbly--grateful to Jane, in the
first place, for liking her, finding her, in Jane's own phrase, "worth
while," and her ideas worth listening to. Because here was something,
you see, that she could take at its face value. There was no
long-circuited sex attraction to discount everything, in Jane's case.
But she had another reason.
Rodney, it seemed, had told the Lakes about the prospective baby the
very morning after he'd learned the news himself, and Jane--this was
perfectly characteristic of her--had come straight up to see Rose about
it; even before Frederica.
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