“Mr. Bayard,” said Jane, who had not spoken before, “I hope you will pay no attention to this message.”
She spoke in a voice so low as to be almost inarticulate.
“Oh, I’ll go with him, if he’s afraid,” said Trawl, with that accent which falls just so far short of a sneer that a man may not decently notice it.
“I incline to think it is wise to take a witness to this adventure,” replied Bayard serenely. “But I need not trouble you, Mr. Trawl. Pray don’t exert yourself to oblige me.”
“It’s no exertion,” said Ben, with a change of tone. “Come along!”
He strode out into the street and Bayard, after a moment’s hesitation, did the same, shutting the garden gate behind him. Jane Granite opened it, and followed them for a little way; she seemed perplexed and distressed; she did not speak, but trotted silently, like a dog, in the dark.
“Go back!” said Trawl, stopping short. Jane slunk against a fence, and stopped.
“Go back, I say!” cried Trawl.
“It is natural that she should want to come. She feels anxious about you,” observed Bayard kindly.
“Go back to your mother, and stay there!” commanded Trawl, stamping his foot.