"I have, Austin," said Jenny. She edged ever so little nearer to me, yet looked steadily out of the window on the other side of the brougham. "I'm frightened," she added in a low voice.
"Upon my honor," said I, "I don't wonder at it."
Such was the beginning of a remarkable kindness, a gentleness, almost an appealing attitude, which Jenny displayed during several weeks that followed. I must not flatter myself—Chat shared the rays of kindly sunshine. If I were promoted to the Christian name, Chat got the lace.
"What will you call me?" she asked. "'Miss Driver' sounds—Say 'Jenny'!"
"Before the county? Impossible!"
"Well, then, when we're alone?"
"Shall it be Lady Jenny? For ourselves?"
She sighed acquiescence. "You're a great comfort to me," she added. "You'll come in, won't you, if you hear me scream?"
"Come in?"
"I've got to see him alone, you know." She raised her hands for an instant, as though in lamentation; "Oh, why is he like that?"