bought on the way to his duties), the two doors were left open and shouts of laughter were wafted across to the dining-room, where four people were trying earnestly to make the best of three.
"Your servants seem very noisy," said Mrs. Smale.
"We like them to enjoy themselves," said Jane stoutly.
"I thought I heard a man's laugh."
"Did you?" said Lucilla, who had heard it too.
"What a terrible earthquake that was in Vitruvial!" said Mr. Dix quickly.
"Yes, wasn't it?" said Mr. Rochester, seconding him ably with details, which Mr. Dix capped. The incident drew them together, for of course there hadn't been any earthquake in Vitruvia, wherever Vitruvia may be.
Mrs. Smale and her sisters wore stuffy, black, beady dresses and had no conversation. They were like a dark blight. They did not seem to have read any books. They were not fond of music. They knew nothing of politics, and they did not care for gardens. They seemed weakly curious about the two young men. And during the interval of separation after dinner Mrs. Smale drew Jane aside and spoke.
"Those gentlemen? I didn't quite catch their names."
Jane gave the names.
"Relatives?"
"Not exactly," said Jane.
"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Smale archly. "Your intendeds?"
"Not exactly," said Jane again.
"I see," said Mrs. Smale, in the tone of one who didn't.
The long evening dragged itself out.
The young men went at ten, and before the three paying guests retired they made it quite plain that they wanted early tea in their rooms—at eight—hot water at half-past, and breakfast at nine. Mrs. Smale liked fish and perhaps an egg. Miss Markham had been ordered meat three times a day by a Harley Street physician, and her sister could touch nothing but bacon and tomatoes. Always—every day. And they might as well mention that they each liked a glass of milk at
