With that, they parted. But in another minute, Jane was running back again.
“You will be sure to come, Oliver? You won’t disappoint me? You won’t go from your word?”
Oliver felt a little annoyed; the sore heart grows fretful. “I swear I’ll come, then,” he said; “I’ll meet you, alive or dead.”
I was at the party. Not Tod; he had gone shooting. We spent the afternoon in the garden. It was not a large party, after all; only the Letsoms, Jane Preen, and the Chandler girls; but others were expected later. Jane had a disconsolate look. Knowing nothing of the trouble at Duck Brook, I thought she was sad because Valentine had not come early, according to promise. We knew later that he had been kept by what he called a long-winded client.
At five o’clock we went indoors to tea. Those were the days of real, old-fashioned teas, not sham ones, as now. Hardly had we seated ourselves round the table, and Mrs. Jacob Chandler was inquiring who took sugar and who didn’t, when one of the maids came in.
“If you please, Miss Preen, the gig is come for you,” she said.
“The gig!” exclaimed Jane. “Come for me! You must be mistaken, Susan.”
“It is at the gate, Miss Jane, and Sam’s in it. He says that his master and missus have sent him to take you home immediate.”
Jane, all astonishment, followed by some of us, went out to see what Sam could mean. Sam only repeated in a stolid kind of way the message he had given to Susan. His master and mistress had despatched him for Miss Jane and she must go home at once.
“Is anything the matter?—anyone ill?” asked Jane, turning pale.