“No.”
“What languages do you know?”
“French—I’m not good at it.”
“Well, that’s that. Now, Arnold tells me you heard them say you were to go to Luttrell Marches?”
Renata looked terrified.
“Yes, yes, I did.”
“You’re not supposed to know? They haven’t told you officially?”
“No—no, they haven’t told me anything.”
“Your father goes away to-morrow. Have they told you that?”
“I can’t remember,” said Renata, bursting into tears. “Oh, Jane, you don’t know what it’s like!—to be locked in here—to have them come and ask questions until I don’t know what I’m saying—and to know, to know all the time that if I make one slip I’m lost.”