Immediately she reappeared in a heavy Irish frieze overcoat he had had made that spring in New Bond Street. It was an easy fit for Crane; it enveloped Jane-Ellen completely. The collar which she had contrived to turn up as she put the coat on, stood level with the top of her head; the hem trailed on the ground, and the sleeves hung limp from below the elbows. She looked like a very small kitten wrapped up in a very large baby"s blanket. But she did not allow this superfluity, of cloth to hamper her movements; she sprang into the little back seat, and they started.
After about half an hour, Crane stopped the car. They were now in the outskirts of the main town of the district.
"This is where you get out," he said.
Brindlebury obeyed.
"Smithfield paid you your wages, I believe," and Burton plunged into his own pocket. "Well, there"s something extra."
At this, a trembling might have been seen in the right sleeve of the frieze coat, and the next second, Jane-Ellen"s hand emerged from the cuff, and Crane for the first time experienced the touch of her fingers.
She pushed his hand away from her brother"s.
"Don"t take that money, Brin," she cried.
Brindlebury"s hand dropped.
"No, of course not. What do you take me for?" he said. Then he s.n.a.t.c.hed off his cap and kissed his sister good-by, and, picking up his bag, he disappeared into the darkness.
There was a moment"s silence between the other two, before Crane said:
"Better get into the front seat. You"ll be more comfortable."
Holding up her coat, as if it were a coronation robe, Jane-Ellen stepped in, sat down, and wrapped it carefully about her knees--a process in which Crane by the greatest effort of self-control did not join. Again the brake squeaked and the motor moved forward.
A great deal has been said about silence as a method of spiritual communion, but few of us, in social situations, at least, have the courage of these convictions. Most hostesses, on looking about a silent dinner-table, would be more apt to think that they were watching a suspension of diplomatic relations, rather than an intercommunication of souls. But there are moments for all of us when we value silence as highly as Maeterlinck himself and this, in Burton"s opinion, was one of them.
The moonlight, so much more beautiful and affecting than he had found it earlier in the evening in the garden, the smooth, quick motion, the damp night air blowing against his face, made him acutely aware of the presence at his side of that small, still companion. He felt no need of speech, nor did he speculate as to her state of mind. He drove, and enjoyed life deeply.
They were nearly at home again, before he asked:
"Why was it you did not wish your brother to take what I offered him?"
"Because," she answered, in a tone of simplicity and sincerity he had never yet heard from her, "it would not have been good for him. He"s young, and takes things too easily. He ought not to have money he does not work for."
"I am glad that you feel like that," he said. "I was afraid you refused to let him have it, because you were angry at me for sending him away."
He was afraid that she would relapse into her old tone of mock servility and a.s.sure him that she would never be guilty of the liberty of criticizing her employer, but she did not. She said:
"But I was not angry at you. I should not have respected you if you had done anything else."
He answered seriously:
"You knew that I was sorry not to do what you asked me to do?"
"Yes, I knew," she said.
They did not speak again.
They left the car at the garage and walked to the house. There had been failure in cooperation, for Smithfield evidently had not known of the expedition. The side door was locked, and so was the front door.
"I suppose I"d better ring," said Crane reluctantly. Somehow he was not eager to face Smithfield"s cold, reproving glance.
"No, follow me," whispered Jane-Ellen.
She led him to the kitchen entrance and pointed to a window.
"I don"t believe that window has had a bolt for sixty years," she said.
"And to think," returned Crane, as he gently raised it, "that before I took the house I complained of its being out of repair."
He climbed in and opened the kitchen door for her. He had a match, and she knew the whereabouts of a candle. They still spoke in whispers.
There was, of course, no real reason why they were so eager to let the household sleep undisturbed, yet they were obviously united in the resolution to make no unnecessary sound.
"Wouldn"t you like something to eat?" breathed Jane-Ellen.
"A good idea," he answered.
She divested herself of his coat and beckoned him to the ice-box. They had entirely ceased to be master and servant.
"Some of that chicken salad you had for dinner," she murmured, "if any of it came down. I dare say it didn"t though. Smithfield"s so fond of it."
Crane laughed.
"You mean he eats in the pantry?"
She nodded.
"All butlers do, and Smithfield"s a little bit greedy, though you"d never guess it, would you?"
They laughed softly over Smithfield, as they spread out their simple meal on the kitchen table. Jane-Ellen showed a faint disposition to wait upon her employer, but it was easily vanquished by his a.s.sertion that he would eat nothing unless she sat down, too. A few minutes later, it was he who was doing whatever work was to be done, and she sitting with her elbows on the table watching him. There seemed, after all, nothing unnatural in this new relation.
Presently, Willoughby, hearing the sound of dishes, or smelling the chicken salad, awoke and jumped on the table.
"Do you mind him?" asked his mistress in melting tones.
Crane didn"t mind him at all. He offered the cat a bit of chicken.
Willoughby seemed to enjoy it, chewing it with quick little jerks of his head. And presently, he raised a paw and deflected a fork which Crane was carrying to his own mouth. Even this Crane appeared to find amusing.
Before they had finished, the kitchen clock behind them suddenly and discordantly struck once. Burton started and half turned his head, but she stopped him.
"Let"s guess what time it is," she said. "Of course, it"s later than half past ten. It might be half past eleven."
"Or even half past twelve."
"It could be one."
"But certainly not half past."