“If I hadn’t wanted you, you may be pretty sure I shouldn’t have asked you,” retorted Jane bluntly. “Mary an’ ’Liza will likely be scat to death at first, but they’ll get over it an’ thaw out. Don’t pay no attention to ’em.”
Jane had ascended the steps and her hand was on the latch.
“I feel like a child playing truant,” said Lucy, a flush of excitement tinting her cheek. “You see, my aunt wouldn’t like my being here any more than Mar—than your brother would.” 122
“What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em,” was Jane’s brief answer.
“Oh, I shall tell Aunt Ellen.”
“I shan’t tell Martin. He’d rage somethin’ awful.”
She threw open the door. Lucy saw her stiffen with resolution.
“I picked up Miss Lucy Webster on the road an’ brought her home to tea!” she called from the threshold.
Mary and Eliza were busy at the kitchen table. At the words they turned and automatically gasped the one phrase that always sprang to their lips in every emergency:
“Oh, Jane!”