“It is no good asking anybody’s advice—I don’t like to speak to any one about these things,” she said, wishing to dismiss the subject.
“No, you are perhaps....” He had been standing half-way turned to the window. Suddenly his face changed, and he whispered in a state of excitement:
“Jenny, she is down there in the street!”
“Who?”
“She—Rebecca!”
Jenny rose. She felt she could have screamed with exasperation and disgust. She trembled; every fibre of her body was quivering with revolt. She would not be involved in all this—these wicked, odious suspicions, quarrels, spiteful words, and scenes—no, she would not.
“Jenny, my child, you are shivering—don’t be afraid. I won’t let her hurt you.”
“Afraid? Far from it.” She steeled herself at once. “I have been here to fetch you; we have looked at your drawings, and we are now going to your house to supper.”
“She may not have noticed anything.”
“Heavens! we have nothing to hide. If she had not seen that I am here she will soon get to know it. I am going with you; we must do it for your sake as well as for mine—do you hear?”