Page:The Lark - E Nesbit, 1922.djvu/84

Rh the amazing hall-mark of the girl we all kneel to, she said in a voice that would have melted a Judge Jeffreys:

"Mr. Simmons."

He answered alertly. "Yes, miss?"

"I wonder if you would . . . it's getting late and we've such a lot to get home. Would you take the bath-chair up to Hope Cottage, with these jampots, and then bring it back? Oh no, you won't miss your friend—your boss, you said, didn't you? I'll keep him till you come back."

"Why, of course," said Simmons, with ready acquiescence. "I'll load up and set sail this instant minute."

He did. And the moment he was out sight Jane limped out through the glass door and round by the Portugal laurels to the cedar lawn. It seemed to be extraordinarily important that this strange young man should not have an opportunity of beguiling Lucilla with, no doubt, untrustworthy excuses.

"Lucy would believe anything," she told herself, as she stumped quickly along the weedy path towards the distant beacon of Lucilla's brilliant pinafore. When she reached that bright object its wearer was leaning undecidedly against the sundial, and the young man, whose back was towards the approaching Jane, was actually stamping his foot and saying:

"But what on earth was I to do? What else could I have done?"

"What did you do?" Jane found herself saying, almost in his ear. He executed a volte face of unusual celerity.

"Oh!" he said.

"Yes," said Jane.

"He says," said Lucilla, very superfluously, "that he couldn't have done anything else."

"What—did—you—do?" Jane repeated very slowly and distinctly. "After you had broken your promise and betrayed us to Mr. Rochester, what was there left for you to do?"