CHAPTER XIII
When the new brew of tea had been made for young Mr. Rochester, when he had drunk three cups and had helped to wash up the tea-things and put them away in the cupboard when the garden room and the gate had been fastened up for the night, and the girls had parted from the always friendly nephew and the now completely placated uncle, they had leisure, as they walked back to Hope Cottage in the golden-rayed evening, to exchange conjectures as to what had become of Mr. Dix.
"Lost the address, I suppose," said Jane.
"More likely he didn't want to come," said Lucilla. "I expect he thought we were insane—inviting him to tea in that sudden way and promising to engage him without a character."
"Perhaps he's a clairvoyant, a thought-reader; perhaps he felt how much we didn't want him to come while old Mr. Rochester was there."
"Yes—wasn't it awful! I kept wondering what Uncle James would do when Mr. Dix said how nice Cedar Court was after the horrors of prison life. It's just what Mr. Dix would have done, you know—as soon as look at him. It's certainly all for the best that Mr. Dix didn't come—whatever his reasons were."
"I don't feel happy about him, all the same," said Jane. "I can't get him out of my head. Did you notice his right boot?"
"His right boot? No—why?"
"Well, I did. It was cracked right across. I believe
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