to his. She met his eyes then, squarely, with a long unfaltering look. But her eyes reminded him, he thought, of nothing so much as the dangerous blue calm before a devastating wind-flaw lashes the sea. There was something strained about her mouth, too, that troubled him.
"You know that I know what's the matter with you," he said. "I'm worried about them, too, and you have even more cause to worry, because they're your brothers—and because the other Mark Ingrams come and bother you. And probably the old Fortune of the Indies goes sailing around in your poor head every night."
Jane laughed, rather, and turned away.
"I'll be good," she said, "I won't think about it any more."
But she whirled suddenly upon him, with the Ingram blue flashing fiercely in her eyes.
"How can I help thinking about it? How can I keep waiting and waiting, and not knowing?" she asked swiftly. "How can I go on fiddling around and knitting stuff to please the aunts—and not even any school—when—when—"
