Summer-house, they felt no premonition of anything more wonderful than the sale of a few flowers and the adjustment of Mr. Dix to his new situation. The affair of Mr. Dix was interesting, certainly, but it was not epoch-making.
Jane was in a somewhat chastened mood; one cannot recover all in a moment, as she explained to Lucilla, from the crowning imbecility of a lifetime; the dark stain of ignominy takes some time to clean off.
"Tears ought to lay the dust, anyhow," said Lucilla.
"Don't let's throw up tears at each other," said Jane.
"No," said the other, with laboured conciliation, "but I really mean it. And besides, look how the rain last night has washed the world clean and bright as a new pin. I do think when you've done anything wrong or silly, and been really and truly sorry, you ought to try and forget it. Wipe it out."
"Ah," said Jane, "you got that from Miss Whatever-was-her-name; you know, that used to read Ibsen to us and talk about sickly consciences. She wore æsthetic gowns till Jamesie stopped it and put her into a blouse and skirt. I liked her—and I don't mean to have a sickly conscience. But don't you think one ought to dwell a little on one's croppers, so as not to do the same thing again?"
"Miss Prynne—yes, that's her name—used to say that you shouldn't look back, but look forward. Don't go on regretting what you've done that's bad, but try to cancel it out by doing something good. Cheer up, old Jane; don't forget that life is a lark!"
"I know it is," said Jane, "but it's a lot of other things too. I sometimes think life isn't so simple as they make out at school. For instance, do you think Mr. Rochester and Mr. Dix will like each other? Because I don't."
"Does it matter?"
"Doesn't it? How can we have any peace and quiet, let alone joy, in life if our kind friend and protector, Mr. John Rochester, growls at the thought of our protecting a stray dog. You know how I hate tact . . ."
