ing whether he meant her looking for him just now down Chesley Street or her long vigil over the Fortune of the Indies.
The boys were close behind Jane; the aunts got as far as the doorway, trying not to show any signs of curiosity or impatience. So that the whole existent Ingram family surrounded Mr. Bolliver upon his entrance, and contained themselves with difficulty while he turned over his hat, stick, and overcoat to Mark.
When they were all assembled in the drawing-room, he looked upon them soberly.
"I feel," he said, "as though I were taking part in the sort of story one always thinks not quite probable."
He glanced up at the model of the Fortune, sailing on her endless voyage above the mantel. Jane's eyes followed his. Her heart beat violently. In the waiting silence of the room the grandfather-clock in the hall could be heard ticking ponderously. It whirred, rumbled, and struck eleven with resonant deliberation. Mr. Bolliver waited until its vibrance died. Then he put on his eye-glasses, looped the ribbon of them out of his way, and
