"Aw; do I, thin'!" jeered Miss MacGrotty. "Well, you moind what I say; that's all! I ain't a-goin' to be blamed fer your doin's, miss."
"I shall have to go back to England," Jane told herself, as she left the kitchen hot with rage and shame.
Master Belknap was for the moment playing peacefully in his sand pile, and Jane, who had been bidden to keep close watch upon his movements, stood looking down at him, winking fast to keep the angry tears from clouding her eyes. One, two, three great sparkling drops got the better of her and fell flashing into the sand; then Jane glanced up to find John Everett looking at her with an expression of poignant anxiety on his honest face.
"You are crying," he said in a low voice. "Why? Doesn't my sister——"
"Oh, it is nothing! I——" To her immense dismay Jane choked over an unmistakable sob which wrenched her slender throat. "I wish you would—not——"
"But I can't help it, when I see you so unhappy. Haven't you any friends in America?"
"No-o—that is—I have one," said Jane, remembering Bertha Forbes's unanswered letter.
"A man?" he asked, with sudden sharp anxiety.
Jane looked at him indignantly. "I don't know any man," she said.
"You know me," he murmured. "I should like to be your friend, Jane; may I?"