She stopped and stared at me.
"Hello," she said. "What do you think you are? A Statue?"
"Hush, Jane," I said, in a low tone. "I can only ask you to
be quiet and speak in Whispers. I cannot give the reason."
"Good heavens!" she whispered. "What has happened, Bab?"
"It is happening now, but I cannot explain."
"_What_ is happening?"
"Jane," I whispered, ernestly, "you have known me a long
time and I have always been Trustworthy, have I not?"
She nodded. She is never exactly pretty, and now she had
opened her mouth and forgot to close it.
"Then ask No Questions. Trust me, as I am trusting you." It
seemed to me that Mr. Beecher through his pen at the door, and
began to pace the bath-house. Owing of course to his being in
his bare feet, I was not certain. Jane heard somthing, to, for
she clutched my arm.
"Bab," she said, in intence tones, "if you don't explain I
shall lose my mind. I feel now that I am going to shreik."
She looked at me searchingly.
"Sombody is a Prisoner. That's all."
It was the truth, was it not? And was there any reasons for
Jane Raleigh to jump to conclusions as she did, and even to
repeat later in Public that I had told her that my lover had
come for me, and that father had locked him up to prevent my
running away with him, imuring him in the Patten's bath-house?
Certainly not.
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