“Will you go now, please, and inquire after your mistress, with my compliments?”
“I daren’t, ma’am.”
“Daren’t! What do you mean?”
“Well, ma’am, there is something about my mistress—” Here she stopped abruptly; but as Mrs. Elton stood expectant, she tried to go on. All she could add, however, was—“No, ma’am; I daren’t.”
“But there is no harm in going to her room.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I go to her room, summer and winter, at seven o’clock every morning,” answered Jane, apparently glad to be able to say something.
“Why won’t you go now, then?”
“Why—why—because she told me—” Here the girl stammered and turned pale. At length she forced out the words—“She won’t let me tell you why,” and burst into tears.
“Won’t let you tell me?” repeated Mrs. Elton, beginning to think the girl must be out of her mind. Jane looked hurriedly over her shoulder, as if she expected to see her mistress standing behind her, and then said, almost defiantly:
“No, she won’t; and I can’t.”