“Sally”—­Janet caught hold of both her hands—­“let me give you an illustration of how nobly and completely I fill your place.  The last time we were over I played for them—­played my best, too.  I ended with my most brilliant performance of Liszt.  Two minutes afterward, when I had gone back to the fire, I heard somebody very softly doing a one-finger melody, picking it out note by note.  I listened, and presently made out one of your favourite ‘little tunes’—­’A Red, Red Rose.’  I looked around the group to see who was missing.  It was not Bob.  It was not Max.  It was not Alec.  It was not Don.  It was not—­”

“Anybody.  It was—­a ghost,” supplied Jarvis.  He was looking intently at Sally, but she was smiling back at Janet, and the colour in her face was not less than it had been a moment before.

“My ghost, probably,” she said lightly.  “I’m sure if it were with you all by that fire as often as I think about you, it would be playing little tunes for itself, most of the time.  Now I must spend my next minute with Alec,” and she was away again.

The minutes certainly were flying.

Janet looked after her.  “There’s something perfectly irresistible about her, isn’t there?” she suggested to her companion.  He did not answer and she glanced at him.  He had pulled out a card-case from his pocket and was writing something on one of the cards.  He slipped the card into the big, green paper-box he held.

“Suppose I take all our packages to the porter and have him put them in her berth while she is off with Alec.  Then she’ll not have to bother with them, getting on,” he proposed.  Janet assented, and in a minute Jarvis, laden with packages, approached the porter.  Retaining half his burden he followed the porter into the car.  He did not immediately return therefrom, and when, three minutes afterward, the signal came for the departure of the train, he was not in the group of whom she took leave.

“Has Jarvis gone?  Say good-by for me to him, please, Jo,” she whispered as she embraced her friend.  Waving the others back Max escorted her into her car.  In the passage they met Jarvis.  Over her head the two young men looked at each other.

“Good-by, sister,” said Max, and kissed her, “I see Jarve wants me to cut it short.”  With which tactful brotherly explanation he abruptly retraced his steps to the vestibule, where he waited.

In the half-lit narrow passage Jarvis made the most of his minute of grace, although Sally’s hand was already extended, and a friendly good-by, with a frank smile, was on her lips.

“Are you in such a hurry to be rid of me?” said he, taking the hand.  “You make me feel somehow as if you didn’t care even for the old friendship.  Is that so, Sally?”

“Not at all.  I care very much.  It seems so good to see you all.”

“To see ‘us all’ doesn’t flatter me much.”  He smiled a little.  “Sally, may I write to you?”