Mrs. Belknap sighed involuntarily. "Yes; that is what I mean. I was so sorry, Jane, to hear from Mary that you two cannot live peaceably in the same house. And then——"
"What else did Mary say about me, Mrs. Belknap?" demanded Jane with kindling eyes.
"She said—. O Jane, how can I tell you? You seem such a nice girl!"
"I seem—yes, madam; but you think I am not what I seem. Well, I am not. I ought not to be doing the work of a servant in this house. I ought never to have come here." Jane threw back her pretty head and stared at Mrs. Belknap from under level lids.
Mrs. Belknap returned the look with one of startled interest. She had recalled the smuggling episode. "What—do you mean, Jane?" she asked. "You are not——"
"I am a lady," said English Jane haughtily; "and so I do not belong in anyone's servant's hall. That is what I mean."
"Oh!—a lady!" repeated Mrs. Belknap, and she smiled. "Everyone who works out in America is 'a lady.' We who employ servants are simply women. But perhaps you did not know that, Jane." She remembered her brother's emphatic assertions, and added kindly: "I have noticed Jane, that you appear somewhat above your station. But you should remember that honest work never hurts anyone's real character. Character is marred by—by something quite different. When one allows oneself to be tempted to—to take what belongs to another, for instance."
"Do you mean, Mrs. Belknap, that you think I stole the things you have missed?" demanded Jane, her hazel eyes darting fire. "Did that wicked Mary say that to you? Yes; I see that she did. And you"—with bitter anger and scorn quite impossible to convey—"believed it!"