"And what do you like best in the book so far as you have gone?"
"Oh, my father's poem, far, far the best. I can say it nearly all by heart. But one reason I've been so slow is, I wanted dreadfully to know about Lord Byron, and in the bottom shelf, where 'Sir Stafford Raffles' is, I found a book all about him, a fat crimson book, and I've been reading that."
"Really," Mr. Wycherly remarked, "you've lost no time. Well, and what do you make of that?"
"It's rather difficult, sir, so many letters; but he seems to have been very unlucky, too, like Don Juan. A most unkind mother; fancy, she threw the fireirons at him, and her one of the gentry—and his wife didn't seem very nice either—and then I looked at the end——"
"Well?" said Mr. Wycherly, for Jane-Anne paused suddenly.
"And I found he's dead, and he died to help Greece; and I'm so sorry."
"Sorry he died to help Greece?"
"No, for that's why my daddie loved him, I'm sure of that; but because he's dead. I should have loved him dearly."
"A great many people did that," said Mr. Wycherly.
"I shall read all his poetry books, and learn all the bits I like; and then—perhaps—do you think that, up in heaven, he could ever know how much I cared?"