Owing of course to his being in his bare feet, I was not
certain. Jane heard somthing, to, for she clutched my arm.
"Bab," she said, in intence tones, "if you don't explain I shall lose my
mind. I feel now that I am going to shreik."
She looked at me searchingly.
"Sombody is a Prisoner. That's all."
It was the truth, was it not? And was there any reasons for Jane Raleigh
to jump to conclusions as she did, and even to repeat later in Public
that I had told her that my lover had come for me, and that father had
locked him up to prevent my running away with him, imuring him in the
Patten's bath-house? Certainly not.
Just then I saw the boatman coming who looks after our motor boat, and I
tiptoed to him and asked him to go away, and not to come back unless he
had quieter boats and would not whistel. He acted very ugly about it, I
must say, but he went.
When I came back, Jane was sitting thinking, with her forhead all
puckered.
"What I don't understand, Bab," she said, "is, why no noise?"
"Because he is writing," I explained. "Although his clothing has been
taken away, he is writing. I don't think I told you, Jane, but that is
his business. He is a Writer. And if I tell you his name you will faint
with surprise."
She looked at me searchingly.
"Locked up--and writing, and his clothing gone! What's he writing, Bab?
His Will?"
"He is doing his duty to the end, Jane," I said softly. "He is writing
the last Act of a Play. The Company is rehearsing the first two Acts,
and he has to get this one ready, though the Heavens fall.
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