I was with him at the time, and after the ring had been twice repeated, Jane came bouncing upstairs, and, quite ignoring the presence of Mr Rowle, addressed herself sharply to me.
“I’m surprised at you, Master Antony, ringing the bells like that, knowing how busy I am. Whatever do you want?”
“It was me as rung, Jane, my dear,” said Mr Rowle. “What’s gone of those two little chayney candlesticks off this table?”
“I’ve took ’em down to clean, Master Antony, if you must know,” said Jane, addressing me spitefully. “You don’t suppose as I’ve took them away?”
She looked at me angrily, while I felt as if I had been accusing her unjustly.
“Oh no, my dear, of course not!” said Mr Rowle. “You’re too highly respectable a girl to do such a thing; but where I was once there was a housemaid as stole a little bronze pen-tray out of the study, and she was found out about it, and given into custody of the police, and got three months.”
Jane looked fiercely at him and whisked out of the room.
“Please, Mr Rowle,” I said, “the little pen-tray that mamma gave poor papa has—has—”
I could say no more, for the recollection of that birthday present, towards which I had subscribed some of my pocket-money, caused such a choking sensation that I was ready to break down once more, and I had to strive hard to keep it back.
“Gone out of the study, young un? Oh no, not it. You fancy as it has.”