"Not everything," said Rochester. "Here are the keys of Cedar Court."
Jane took the mass of jingling iron in both hands. "What a lot of them!" she said. "Which is the key of the Bluebeard chamber? I'm sure there must be one."
"I'm sure there isn't," said Lucilla.
"Miss Quested's quite right. There's always a Bluebeard chamber," said Rochester; "only you never know which it is—and you never know which is the key."
"Do you mean really? Or are you being mystical and like Mæterlinck?"
"I don't think so. I can't believe somehow that Mæterlinck ever really enjoys a joke. Now I do—and it seems to me that my uncle has made the joke of his life in going off to a monastery in Thibet, where Tm sure they don't want him, and leaving you saddled with a large, ugly house that I'm sure you don't want."
"Oh, but we do!" said both girls.
"Thank you for them kind words, lady," said Rochester, and Lucilla noted approvingly that he really did seem to be making an effort to put the black dog up the chimney. "But it is a joke, isn't it? And I appreciate it so much that I should like to point out that my uncle isn't the Cham of Tartary."
"I suppose not—no," said Jane, who was wondering about several things.
"No, nor is he a Median or a Persian monarch. I mean that what he says doesn't necessarily have to be so. He thought you'd love to have Cedar Court. But if you don't want it—why, you've only to say so, and it's 'as you were' for all of us."
"For all of us? Do you mean . . .?" Jane stopped.
"She means, are you to be a sort of gentlemanly duenna, to see that we do exactly what you think Uncle James would like?" Lucilla put in.
"Lucilla," said Jane, "I didn't mean that in the least. I meant . . . Oh, it doesn't matter," she ended, finding
