PUT up with a good deal of Jane's carelessness, without saying anything; but, when she mislaid the clothes-basket, I had to speak about it. When I find fault with her she generally argues; but, on this occasion, she only sighed.
"I've got something on my mind, Miss Molly," she said. "That's where it is."
"No, it isn't. It's on the dining-room table."
She stopped in the middle of washing a tea-cup, and dropped it. Luckily, it only fell in the water.
"That jest shows!" she exclaimed.
"It shows that you are very thoughtless."
"Ah!" She shook her head. "You ain't old enough to understand."
"I am fourteen," I reminded her. I have kept house ever since mother died; and I understand more than Jane does.
"I don't deny," she admitted, as you've got sense for your age; but there's some things wot you 'ave to go through to know about." She sighed again, and nearly let a jug slip.
"You will break something in a minute," I warned her. "I have been through that! Why don't you attend to what you are doing?"
"I ain't got no 'eart for washin' up."
She sat down on a chair, and wiped her eyes with her apron. So, I took the tea-cloth, and began drying the things; but she jumped up and snatched it away.
"You ain't goin' to do the work wot I'm paid for," she said, "not while I got strength to stand—wot won't be long!"
I nearly laughed. There is nothing the matter with Jane except her appetite—it is enormous.
"What is wrong, Jane?" I asked.
"It's a—agen'l'man."
I think she blushed; but she is naturally red, so you can never be sure.
"What gentleman?"
"One wot 'as been after me."
"After you?"
"Payin' 'is attentions, as the master calls it in them 'ere stories."
My father is Frank Marchant, the famous author. He writes stories, and sells them—at least, he sells some of them. He would sell them all if editors had literary taste.
"Has he left off paying them?" I inquired.
"Left off! Not 'im."
"Then, why aren't you satisfied?"
She walked over to the dresser, and hung up some cups.
"I ain't good enough for 'im," she said, "an' that's gospel truth. 'E's a perfick gen'l'man, that's wot 'e is. An' as for eddication! Why, 'e can write a letter as easy as kiss my 'and!"
"Does he kiss your hand often?"
"I'd like to ketch 'im!"
"I thought when people were—were 'paying attentions'"
Jane laughed, scornfully. "Ands wasn't made for kissin'," she said. I do not think Jane's were!
"No-o. What is he like?"
She started cleaning the fender. "There ain't nothink the matter with 'is looks."
"Is he tall?"
"'Bout middlin'."
"And handsome?"
"A proper figger of aman, I call 'im."
"Dark or fair?"
"You might say as 'e's fair, considering 'is 'air is lightish. Some people sez as it's red." She scowled at the fireplace. "Pack of nonsense! An' if it was red, wot 'ud it matter? It's 'is ways wot I look to."
"Of course. What is his name?"
"You ain't 'alf inquisitive!"
"Don't be rude, Jane," I said, severely. I am not at all inquisitive; but I like to know about things.
"Well," she said, "it's Claude Montmorency. It was partly the name wot I took to."
I thought that "Mrs. Claude Montmorency" would sound funny for Jane, but I did not say so. Father says that tact is another name for holding one's tongue.
"It ain't nothink to 'is manners," she assured me. "You should 'ear 'im say 'Good evenin', Miss De Vere,' when I—" She stopped suddenly, and turned so very red that I knew she was blushing.
"Miss De Vere!" I looked at her. "Oh, Jane!"
"'Ow could I tell 'im a name like 'Arris?"
"You'll have to tell him sooner or later."
"There's lots of things I'll 'ave to tell 'im sooner or later. That's wot's on my mind." She wiped her eyes.
"You haven't been passing yourself off for somebody else?" She nodded. "It isn't right."
She put the fender down with a bang. "I never said as it was. ... Wish I 'adn't never been born."
I knew it was very wrong, and I ought to have been cross with her; but she began crying dreadfully, so I couldn't. Jane is a great worry to me; but she means well.
"What have you told him?" I asked.
"More'n I can remember. An' bound to go an' contradic' myself some time or other. I said as I was companion to a lady, wot treated me like one of the fambly; an' 'ad expectations from my uncle—wot I 'adn't never none; an' as I could play the planner beautiful, an' sing. Some of them songs of yours an' the master's I tole 'im, like 'Jerusalem, wot Slayest the Profits,' an' '’Oner 'er 'Arms.' They're classy ones, ain't they?"