his voice—strong, fine of timbre, well modulated—sounded pleasantly. She was disturbed by the remarkable behavior of her heart.
Afterward she could not recall what she had said, but she remembered his words accurately. They were few and formal, but they were uttered in that unmistakable way which marks the speech of a man of breeding.
She took particular note of his hands; while they were a bit slender, with long fingers, there was something about them indicative of physical strength, and strength of character, as well. She wondered that a baseball player could have such fine, well-groomed hands; and she had come to believe that the hand of any man tattles the secrets of him to whom it belongs.
After a few moments, the ball players passed out of the church between two lines of children waiting to enter for Sabbath school when the congregation should have departed. Even as she smilingly greeted some of those children, Janet's eyes followed the retreating figure of Tom Locke.
She was a bit startled to hear some one speak to her, and to discover Bent King, hat in hand, at her side. His face was unusually pale, and there was in his eyes something resembling anger. His voice sounded unnatural and harsh.
