“And when I make them I fully mean to keep them; but a lot of idle fellows get hold of me, and—and—I can’t,” said he, in a savage tone.
“But you might,” said Jane. “If I made promises I should keep them to you—whatever the temptation.”
“I cannot think who it is that comes tattling to you about me, Jane! Is it Oliver?”
“Oliver! Never. Oliver does not know, or suspect—anything.”
“Then it must be those confounded girls indoors!”
“Nor they, either. It is not anyone in particular, Valentine; but I hear one and another talking about you.”
“I should like to know what they say. You must tell me, Jane.”
Jane caught her breath, as if she did not like to answer. But Valentine was waiting.
“They say you are not steady, Val,” she spoke in a whisper; “that you neglect your business; that unless you pull up, you will go to the bad.”
For a few moments Valentine remained quite still; you might have thought he had gone to sleep. Then he put out his hand, drew Jane gently to him, and bent down his head to her with a long-drawn sigh.