“I wish she were. But perhaps she will come next year.”
“I think she will. I am almost sure she would have liked to come to-night; for I heard her say”——
“I beg your pardon, Jane, for interrupting you; but I would rather not be told anything you may have happened to overhear,” I said, in a low voice.
“Oh, sir!” returned Jane, blushing a dark crimson; “it wasn’t anything particular.”
“Still, if it was anything on which a wrong conjecture might be built”—I wanted to soften it to her—“it is better that one should not be told it. Thank you for your kind intention, though. And now, Jane,” I said, “will you do me a favour?”
“That I will, sir, if I can.”
“Sing that Christmas carol I heard you sing last night to your mother.”
“I didn’t know any one was listening, sir.”
“I know you did not. I came to the door with your father, and we stood and listened.”
She looked very frightened. But I would not have asked her had I not known that she could sing like a bird.