THE GAY COCKADE
lady of the land. Such a silly dream for Sandwich Jane!
They were quite alone when he came to her. It was morning, and the porches were empty of guests. Jane was in a long wicker chair, with her pot of coffee on an hour-glass table. Far down on the terrace two Jap gardeners clipped and cut and watered and saw nothing.
"You are younger than ever," Jane said when they had clasped hands. "Will you ever grow old, O-liver?"
"The men say not." He seated himself opposite her. "Jane, Jane, it's heavenly to see you. I've been—starved!"
She had hungered and thirsted for him. Her hand shook a little as she poured him a cup of coffee.
"I told you not to come, O-liver."
He laid the telegram before her. Fluffy Hair was dead!
The yellow sheet lay between, defying them to speak so soon of happiness.
"To-morrow," O-liver said, "I go to Washington. When will you come to me, Jane?"
Her hand went out to him. Her breath was quick. "In time to hear your first speech, O-liver. I'll sit in the gallery, and lean over and listen and say to myself, 'He's mine, he's mine!'"
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