It must be almost directly over her head, if she
could only see it.
"It sounds--it sounds the way a humming-bird would look through a
telescope," she said half aloud, and Rosemary murmured sleepily but
courteously, "What, Janet?"
"Just an airplane--no, gone now. It sounded like a bird. Didn't you
hear it?"
"No," replied Rosemary drowsily. "We get so used to the old things
that we don't even notice them any more. Queer time to be flying!"
"It sounded rather--beautiful," said Janet, her face still turned to
the stars. "Far off, but so clear and sure. I wonder--I wonder
whether it will be coming back?"
Well, it came back. She went down to White Orchards with Rosemary
for the following week-end, and after she had smoothed her hair and
given a scornful glance at the pale face in the mirror, with its
shadowy eyes and defiant mouth, she slipped out to the lower terrace
for a breath of the soft country air. Halfway down the flight of
steps she stumbled and caught at the balustrade, and stood shaking
for a moment, her face pressed against its rough surface. Once
before--once before she had stumbled on those steps, but it was not
the balustrade that had saved her. She could feel his arms about her
now, holding her up, holding her close and safe.
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