Something about the tone of this remark put an end to the conversation. Jane-Ellen obediently left the room. Brindlebury struggled frantically to strap his bulging bag, and succeeded only with the assistance of Crane. When they went downstairs, the motor was already ticking quietly at the side door. No one was visible, except Jane-Ellen, who was wistfully watching it. Brindlebury got in, and set his bag upright between his knees; Crane got in, and had actually released the brake, when, looking up at the cook still standing there, he found himself saying: "Do you want to come, too, Jane-Ellen, to see the last of your brother?" Of course she did; she looked hastily about and then turned toward the stairs, but Crane stopped her. "No," he said, "don't go up. There's a coat of mine there in the coat closet. Take that." 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 snatched 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.