But all this ghostly cogitation being quite at variance with Miss Blythe's usual optimistic and cheerfully human way of looking at things, she presently abandoned it altogether to speculate on the nature of the interview with her uncle, an event which certainly concerned her immediate fortunes much more intimately. Mr. Robert Aubrey-Blythe was an exalted personage with whom Jane felt herself to be very slightly acquainted. He was kind; yes, certainly. Jane could not recall a single occasion upon which he had spoken to her in a manner even remotely approaching unkindness. Indeed, he very rarely spoke to her at all beyond a curt 'Good evening, Jane' when she slipped into her place at the family dinner table. Twice before this she had been summoned to the library; each time to receive a perfunctory rebuke for some childish piece of mischief, reported presumably by Lady Agatha; whereat she had gone away shaking in her small shoes to lead a blameless existence for many days thereafter.
"Aunt Agatha has told Uncle Robert what I said to her about being paid for teaching Percy and Cecil," the girl decided. "Well, I hope she has. I don't mind being a nursery governess, not in the least; but I hate—hate—hate the way I am living now. Even the servants pity me!"
She stood up and drew her slight figure to its full height as she heard the swish and rustle of silken skirts in the corridor; the women were coming away from table. It was a small party, after all. Jane watched the vanishing trains of the five dinner-gowns with a speculative smile. How would it seem, she wondered, to be beautifully dressed every night and dine with guests who were not forever carping at one, but whose chief business in life it was to be agreeable. Then she faced about at sound of her cousin Gwendolen's voice.
"What are you doing in here, Jane?" demanded that young lady snappishly, as she advanced to the fire.
"Waiting for Uncle Robert," Jane told her briefly.
Gwendolen frowned and twisted her rings so as to make them sparkle in the firelight. "How very coy and unconscious we are!" she said sneeringly. Then suddenly she burst into a disagreeable laugh.
"What are you laughing at, Gwen?" asked Jane, with real curiosity.
"At you, goose," replied Miss Aubrey-Blythe crossly. She turned and moved toward the door. "Don't you know what papa wants with you?" she paused to demand.
"No, I don't," said Jane steadily. "Do you?"
But Miss Gwendolen merely shrugged her ugly shoulders as she dropped the heavy curtains into place behind her.