Burton, who, with a blustering tone, as though he wanted to shout down
an opponent, burst out--

"Well, she's here now and she's not going away. And you can tell the
kind neighbours that we can look after ourselves without their
assistance. And as for them good girls that used to play with Jane, I
know several who wouldn't have been slow to take the place. _I'll_ look
after Jane all right. And we're much obliged for your visit, Miss
Hilton," he continued, ironically. "We can spare you for quite a long
time now. You can save yourself the walk another time. If you want to be
home for dinner-time, you'd better be starting, don't you think?"

Anne rose stiffly, limping with rheumatism.

"Jane love, come with me," she said; "I can shelter you for a time, I
can give you--"

"No I won't," retorted Jane, petulantly, turning her back.

Anne went slowly out of the room. Richard Burton accompanied her with
offensive heartiness.

"Well, good morning, Miss Hilton," he said, opening the door with the
stained glass window, and stepping into the red-tiled porch, he looked
up at the sky. "I believe it's stopped raining--all the better for your
rheumatism, eh? Well! give my love to the neighbours you think so much
of," he shouted with a laugh, and shut the door. Anne opened the wooden
gate with brass nails, and shutting it behind her stood again in the
dripping lane.