“You have, my lady, though you’ve always been a bit ’aughty,” cried Jane, through her sobs and tears, “and I’d do anything to help you now you’re in such grief.”
“Tell me, then, all—all, my good girl.”
“Well, my lady, I was in the room over here—the blue room, my lady.”
“Yes, yes; go on.”
“And I happened to be at the window, when I saw, as I thought, a boy come up quick on his bicycle, slip in through the gate, and come up.”
“To the front door. Yes, yes, with another telegraphic message?”
“No, my lady; that’s what I thought, but he—he only come to the window here, and got in.”
“Got in?”
“Yes, my lady; for I reached out and there was the bicycle leaning up against the creepers and the roses, and I could hear voices, and someone sobbing, and—and—”
Jane’s mouth shut with a snap.