“No, I could trust you; but what good would there be in telling?”
“True enough,” said Jane, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t suppose there is anything to tell. Houses like this are always stupid places for a clever girl to live in. At the hospital one has variety, and can boss it over the women. I might have known that you had nothing to tell.”
“But I have—only it’s dangerous. Bend your head close, Jane, and I’ll tell you all about it,—enough to make you cry.”
Jane turned her head, and Ellen stooped toward her, speaking low and eagerly. If Jane was interested, she only gave indications of it now and then by a brief question.
“And she did not know where the girl went—has no idea about her?”
“No, she hasn’t; and it troubles her—my! how it does trouble her. When they come, there’ll be questions she won’t know how to answer. I wouldn’t be in her place for both your diamond ear-rings.”
“Has she tried to find her?”
“Of course she has, but quietly, you know. Had a detective here one day up in her own room. Thought we servants did not know; but there’s nothing going on that we do not understand.”
“Exactly!” said Jane Kelly, leaning back in her chair as if tired of the subject. “Now tell me who are the people down-stairs?”
“Oh, it’s a meeting of the Society—the annual meeting. Quite a mission—fashionable people from the Hill, and pious people from the side-streets—come early and go home by eleven. They are likely to be upon us any minute.”