The girls were friendly enough in school, but she knew very few of them at home. Those she did know were nearly all friends of Mrs. Methuen and girls whose position was assured. Thus it happened that Jane-Anne’s few friends were the nicest girls in the school. But she had very little time for friendship. She still helped her aunt in the house as much as ever she could. She had really hard and heavy homework to prepare—only her extraordinary quickness got her through it in the time she allowed for it, and she was, moreover, always to the fore if any play or recitation or fancy dancing was toward. She was so easily and far beyond any other girl in things of that sort that she could never be spared. The dancing-class was her greatest joy. Mr. Wycherly had insisted on her learning to dance whenever she went to school. He paid the fees himself, and sometimes even braved the phalanx of girls at the class in order to go himself and see her dance. And once a year Curly came with his company and acted in the Oxford Theatre. Mr. Wycherly always took Jane-Anne and Curly always came to see them in Holywell, and every time he came he asked Mr. Wycherly the same question: "Well, and have you settled yet what she is to be?" "She talks," said Mr. Wycherly, "of being a teacher of dancing—but it seems to me that in that case her education is rather thrown away." "A teacher of dancing!" Curly repeated ironically. "I think I see her teaching dancing for long." "She came to me last night," Mr. Wycherly continued, as though he had not heard, "and asked abruptly, ’Do you think one can serve God and dance for a living?’" "Ah," said Curly, "that’s a different thing; and what did you say, sir?" "I fear," said Mr. Wycherly humbly, "that I made no very definite answer." "I should like to know what you think," Curly persisted. "You consider dancing to be one of the beautiful and delightful arts?" "I do." "And in Jane-Anne that art finds the subtlest and most delicate expression?" Mr. Wycherly groaned. "Why should she not serve God as well in that way as in any other?" "Because," said Mr. Wycherly haughtily, "I should dislike it extremely." Curly laughed. "I have an idea," he said, "that Miss Allegra Stavrides will find another mode of expressing the artist that is in her." Mr. Wycherly groaned again. "She is so young," he said; "why should she be anything at all for years and years?" "Because," said Curly, "the race is to the swift, and the child is very fleet of foot." "You will not, promise me you will not, say or do anything to put such an idea into her head," Mr. Wycherly pleaded. "My dear old friend, the idea has been there for years—and it is quite possible it may come to nothing." But though Curly spake comfortable words there was no conviction in his voice. *CHAPTER XVIII* *GANTRY BILL*