There was Mr. Scawthorne's breakfast only half prepared; Jane had to
see to it herself, and herself take it upstairs. Then Bessie must go
to bed, or assuredly she would be so ill that unheard-of calamities
would befall the infants. Jane would have an eye to everything; only
let Jane be trusted.
The miserable day passed; after trying in vain to sleep, Bessie
walked about her sitting-room with tear-swollen face and rumpled
gown, always thinking it possible that Sam had only played a trick,
and that he would come. But he came not, and again it was night.
At eight o'clock Mr. Scawthorne's bell rang. Impossible for Bessie
to present herself; Jane would go. She ascended to the room which
had once--ah! once!--been her own parlour, knocked and entered.
'I--I wished to speak to Mrs. Byass,' said Scawthorne, appearing
for some reason or other embarrassed by Jane's presenting herself.
'Mrs. Byass is not at all well, sir. But I'll let her know--'
'No, no; on no account.'
'Can't I get you anything, sir?'
'Miss Snowdon--might I speak with you for a few moments?'
Jane feared it might be a complaint. In a perfectly natural way she
walked forward.
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