"Of course not, miss," said Gladys, deeply injured. "But when I heard the blind click—Mrs. Doveton heard it too, we was both in the kitchen—I knew it was all up, and I come to help Miss Lucy off with her things. It was as good as a play when she went outside and rang the bell, and me inside, ready to open. And she says:
"'Miss Quested at home?' and says she'd seen the advertisement and she wished to recommend a cook. Nobody couldn't have known her."
Jane's face cleared a little at this evidence that at least Lucilla had retained some vestiges of tact. She caught at her self-possession.
"Well, you needn't wait, Gladys," she said. "The fun's over now. Yes, it was very amusing." She made herself laugh, and reflected that she would have to laugh sooner or later, and might as well begin now and laugh generously. She laughed again with more sincerity.
"I'll help Miss Lucy to undress," she said. "Yes, it was jolly good. It quite took me in. It was a right-down regular do. And a thorough lark."
"Yes, wasn't it?" said Gladys. "Miss Lucy ought to be on the halls. All right, miss—all right, I'm off. . . ."
••••••
"It was a fair score," said Jane, folding up the silk dress that the false Mrs. Rochester had worn. "You were absolutely IT. You took me in completely. Your voice was splendid—about an octave above your natural voice, wasn't it? And that affected little laugh—like a neigh! You're a born actress, Lucilla—Gladys is quite right. There was something about the voice that seemed familiar, but I thought our Mr. Rochester's voice perhaps was like his mother's."
"It isn't a bit like that voice," said Lucilla, spluttering among warm soapsuds; "it was a nice voice, wasn't it?"
"Whatever made you think of doing it?"
"The rubbish you were talking about chaperones, I expect. I thought I'd call and offer myself as one. Then I thought I'd pretend to be a potential Pig, and when Gladys said, 'What
