or, rather, a divided, duty. Both girls were desperately searching for something to say—something to delay the moment when old Mr. Rochester should repeat his first big-bear question, Both felt that the longer that could be delayed the better—if they could only get him comfortable, get him interested, give him a really good cup of tea and some of the fat, home-made cakes before having to explain about the panelling.
"The garden," Jane began, and, "The flowers," said Lucilla, at exactly the same moment, and both stopped.
Then:
"The board," they said simultaneously, and again stopped short.
"Why not speak one at a time," suggested Mr. Rochester, "and explain to me . . ."
"I was just trying to," said Jane very quickly, and got in before Lucilla that time. "I do hope you don't mind the board? We couldn't have sold anything to speak of without a board—and we left the original label . . ."
"Label?"
"'This house is not to let.' I do think that's lovely," said Jane, with an air of the completest candour. "Do you know, Mr. Rochester, I knew you were nice. The very minute I saw that notice I knew it. And when they told me you were . . ."
"They told you I was what?"
"We knew it was only that they didn't understand you," Lucilla put in.
"They didn't say anything really dreadful, you know," said Jane; "only that they didn't think you would let anyone have the house."
"Was that all?"
"Well," Jane acknowledged, "one person did say you were a grampus, but I don't think he could have been serious."
Mr. Rochester gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh.
