“Miss Smith, if you would—you see, if we could only get a clear start—what I mean to say is, South America’s a long way off——”
“Quite a distance,” Jane agreed.
“And if they thought that you were Renata, they wouldn’t look for her—and once we were clear away——”
“My dear Mr. Todhunter!” said Jane.
“I could take you up the fire-escape,” said Mr. Todhunter, in low, thrilling accents. “It would be quite easy. They would never know that Renata was not there. You do see what I mean, don’t you?”
“Oh yes,” said Jane in rather an odd voice. “You’ve made it beautifully clear. Renata is in a position of deadly peril—I think that’s what you called it—and the simple way out is for Renata to elope with you to South America, and for me to be in the position of deadly peril instead. It’s a beautiful plan.”
“Then you’ll do it?” exclaimed the oblivious Mr. Todhunter.
Jane looked away. Immediately in front of her was a strip of gravelled path. Beyond that there was green grass, and a bed of pale blue hyacinths, and budding daffodils. Two-and-elevenpence, and then the workhouse—the ascent of a fire-escape in the April darkness, and at the top of the fire-escape a position of deadly peril.
“Of course,” said Jane, speaking to herself in her own mind. “I might try to be a housemaid, but one has to have a character, and I don’t believe Cousin Louisa would give me one.”
She turned back to the chafing Mr. Todhunter.