"I shall not be a moment longer than I can help, and I shall expect to hear all sorts of interesting news when I come back."
"Do you think I could ever learn to be a lady, sir—if I can't be a servant?"
"I see no reason why you should not grow up a very charming lady."
"But ladies don't dust and wash dishes and do things like I do."
"As I do," Mr. Wycherly corrected almost mechanically. Then, as if he had not spoken, he went on, "the best and most beautiful lady I ever knew did all these things."
"Did she like doing them?"
"I don't think she ever thought much about what she liked or disliked. She did what she had to do, and did it better and more gracefully than anybody else."
She pondered over this. It seemed to her an impossible ideal. How could anyone do a thing "more gracefully than anybody else" just because it had to be done? Liking had everything to do with Jane-Anne's doings.
When she had cleared away, Mr. Wycherly sat long over his glass of port. He did not read. He did not drink his wine, but sat on at the table staring at nothing, and wondering about the future of this queer, lonely child who had crept into his heart so quietly and imperceptibly that not till she made that astounding announcement as to her matrimonial ambitions did he realise how dear she had become.
He had released the starling; it was true.