Page:The Lark - E Nesbit, 1922.djvu/60

Rh "Where," he asked sternly, "where do people keep corkscrews—kitchen corkscrews?"

"I don't know," said Lucilla. "I never have corkscrews to keep anywhere. Is that brandy?"

"No—old port; well, there are more ways of killing a cat than choking it with butter."

He retreated to the scullery, and they heard the tinkle of broken glass. He came back with the beheaded bottle and two tea-cups.

"Here," he said to Lucilla, "you first. Oh, don't be silly. Think what a shock you've had."

"I thought you were a ghost—or pretending to be; it's just as bad. I don't like wine."

"Well, drink this, or I shall think it's a ghost I'm seeing. I'm sure you're white enough. That's right. Now lift her head and I'll hold the cup. I hope she isn't going to make a fuss."

"No, I'm not," said Jane shortly, raised her head and drank steadily. "Thank you. That'll do me lots of good. But really, I'm all right, you know."

"Yes, you look all right," said he, and for the first time his eyes dwelt on Jane's face. Lucilla, who happened to be looking at him, remarked an extraordinary flash of something. It couldn't be recognition, because he had not seen Jane at all on the morning of the inn breakfast. It could not be admiration, for poor old Jane was looking like a cross, sick kid. But there was something. No doubt of that. Whatever it was, there it was, Lucilla told herself. Then she looked at Jane to see if Jane had noticed—and there was something about Jane's face too, something odd.

The young man was moving about the kitchen, picking things up and putting them down quite aimlessly. Embarrassed by a dish-cover, he walked to the window and absently set the cover down on a chair. Then he tapped a copper warming-pan as though it had been a barometer.

Lucilla continued her splashing ministrations.