In the chamber the girl entered, Jane Clermont looked up half-scornfully.
“I heard it all,” she burst; “you are a little fool to take it—scolding you like a child, and before all those people!”
Mary opened a bureau drawer and took out a small rosewood box containing her one dearest possession. As she stood with her treasure in her hand, Jane jumped to her feet.
“I’ve borne it as long as I can myself,” she cried under her breath. “I’m going to run away before I am a fortnight older.”
“Run away? Where?”
Jane had begun to dance noiselessly on tiptoe with swift bacchante movements. “I’m going to be an actress,” she confided, as she stood at a pirouette. “I’ve been to see Mr. Sheridan—the great Mr. Sheridan—and he’s promised to get me a trial in a real part at Drury Lane!” She paused, struck with the determination in the other’s face. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to Shelley.”
“Good! I’ll go with you. But you have no money. How can you help him?”
Mary held out the little box.