The visitor laughed. Jane, cold with excitement and rigid to the ends of her fingers and feet with the stress of the struggle, relaxed a little.
"And what does the other young lady say?" He turned to the still inarticulate Lucilla.
"I say what Jane says," she answered, still fluttered.
"Do you always?"
"No, of course she doesn't," Jane put in, "but she can't say anything true without blaming me, because the whole thing was entirely my fault."
"And you're paying for it, eh?"
He glanced at the hump that her bandaged foot made under the shawl.
"Well, a little, perhaps," said Jane. And Lucilla said, "It was really my fault quite as much. I wanted to, just as badly, only I shouldn't have had the pluck. Jane's so brave."
"Yes," he said musingly, "so it appears. And your relations, how do they regard these heroic exploits?"
"We haven't any relations," said Lucilla, and explained their position.
He listened, and when she had done, said: "That guardian ought to be shot. And you're left like that, with only a few hundred pounds and this little house between you and destitution?"
"It's a dear little house," said Lucilla, gaining courage, "but you see it is so little. We can't grow enough flowers to sell; and all the flowers in your garden . . . We couldn't help gloating over them and wishing we could sell them. We've sold quite a lot even here. And we absolutely must do something before all our money is gone. You see, Jane might be an artist, or I might go on the stage, but we should have to learn how—and that takes time; and you have to have meals every day, don't you? So you see we must begin to earn money at once. If it wasn't for that, how lovely to live in this dear little house and learn how to paint and act!"
"I am glad you appreciate the house," he said; "it is
