"I'm glad you are here, mother," she said. "I'm thankful to have you!"
Mrs. Cupp ceased fanning and stared at her with a change of expression. She found herself involuntarily asking her next question in a half whisper.
"Why, Jane, what is it?"
Jane came nearer.
"I don't know," she answered, and her voice also was low. "Perhaps I'm silly and overanxious, because I am so fond of her. But that Ameerah, I actually dream about her."
"What! The black woman?"
"If I was to say a word, or if you did, and we was wrong, how should we feel? I've kept my nerves to myself till I've nearly screamed sometimes. And my lady would be so hurt if she knew. But—well," in a hurried outburst, "I do wish his lordship was here, and I do wish the Osborns wasn't. I do wish it, I tell you that."
"Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Cupp, and after staring with alarmed eyes a second or so, she wiped a slight dampness from her upper lip.
She was of the order of female likely to take a somewhat melodramatic view of any case offering her an opening in that direction.
"Jane!" she gasped faintly, "do you think they'd try to take her life?"