"Indeed we're not," said Montagu. "We're very poor really; Aunt Esperance said so."
"Poor!" echoed Jane-Anne scornfully, "and live in that beautiful house and have Aunt Martha for a servant. Oh, no, you can't be poor—not really."
"You see, there's Guardie, he takes care of us," Montagu explained, "but we're really orphans, too, you know."
"Are you? I'm so sorry," and she looked it.
"Oh, you needn't be a bit sorry for us. We're very jolly, thank you," and Edmund spoke in rather an offended tone. Pity was the last thing he expected or desired.
"I beg your pardon," she said quickly. "I know it's quite different for you; you're gentry, you see."
The boys glanced at one another and were horribly uncomfortable. In some queer, subconscious way they felt that they had unaccountably and unintentionally been "snobby" to Jane-Anne.
"Come on," said Edmund, "we're wasting time."
The game was keen and exciting. Jane-Anne flew about on her slender stockinged feet, and in spite of the stiff brown dress, there was something singularly fleet and graceful in her movements.
The pleasant pinky light had already changed to grey when from the house there came the sound of a hand-bell rung vigorously.