Jane, going to the deserted ranch house, threw herself down on her bed and sobbed heart-brokenly. She did not hear the tap on the door, nor was she conscious that Merry had entered until she heard her voice: "Jane, dear, have I done anything to hurt you, to make you unhappy?" The tenderness in the tone of her best friend was unmistakable. All at once Jane felt ashamed of herself. Holding out a fevered hand, she said: "Indeed not, dear girl. It isn't your fault at all. Any boy would like you better than me. You are so sweet and unselfish and lovable." Merry's eyes widened, for she was indeed perplexed, "Jane, I don't understand," she said. "What boy likes me better than he does you?" Then, slowly a light dawned. Taking both hot hands in her own, she cried, her blue eyes glowing, "Oh, Jane, dearest Jane, _did_ you think that Jean Sawyer cared for me? Did you think for one moment that I, knowing how much you liked him, would even want him to care for me? Indeed not, Janey! But now that I think about it, I realize that you might misunderstand. Dear, it's a long story. Let's go out on the veranda in the moonlight. There is no one around. They all went up the foothill trail and will be gone for an hour." Jane permitted herself to be led to a vine-sheltered corner of the veranda, where they sat close together in a hammock swing. Merry piled the soft cushions behind her friend, whose flushed face assured her that the head was really aching. Jane sighed as she sank back among them, but it was a sigh of relief. How wrong it had been to doubt for one moment the loyalty of this, her very best friend. But Merry was beginning the story. "Dear," she said, placing a cool hand on the hot one near her, "when you first introduced me to Jean Sawyer, did you notice that my brother Bob drew me away to whisper something to me before I could acknowledge the introduction?" Jane nodded, both curious and interested. "Why did Bob do that? I wondered at the time." Merry continued: "I was just about to exclaim, 'Why, Jean Sawyer Willoughby, so this is where you disappeared to when you left home last February!' but I did not, for Bob gave me no time. What he whispered was, 'Don't let on you know Jean. He wants his identity kept in the dark. He is using his mother's maiden name. Get the cue?' "Of course I got it, but as soon as I could I asked Jean to go for a canter with me that I might tell him how heart-broken his family was because he had disappeared as he did." Jane was no longer reclining among the cushions. She sat up, listening intently. "You and Bob know Jean's family?" "Yes, indeed, both his father and older brother Ken. We met them every summer on the coast of Maine, where our parents had cottages next to each other." "Jean told me of that cottage where he went that summer, alone with his mother," Jane said. "I mean the summer she died."