"Oh, don’t," he exclaimed. "Whatever is the matter? I was only in fun and you know, in the story—it’s a poem—I read it this very afternoon—the beggar maid became the Queen." "_Did_ she?" cried Jane-Anne. "Are you sure? How lovelly! I’d like to play at being a princess," she added wistfully. "It’s not much fun to play what you are already. You see I am a sort of beggar maid." "Oh, nonsense," said Montagu, "you’re not in rags, your clothes look very strong and comfortable." "They’re strong, but they’re not at all comfortable, they’re so stiff"; and Jane-Anne rose lightly to her feet holding her arms out straight. The brown garment was made after a fashion of many years ago—the sleeves and body tight and skimpy and narrow-chested; the skirt unnecessarily full and heavy. "I think you’re rather like Mrs. Noah," said Edmund, "only you’ve more hair and petticoats." Jane-Anne dropped her arms, stooped, and picked up the boots. "Aren’t they frightful?" she said. "That’s the asylum. We all have to wear them." Whereupon she cast the boots violently away from her and they bounded into the midst of a herbaceous border. "Now," she said, with a little dancing movement indicative of relief, "you’ll see that I can run." "What was that you said about an asylum?" Edmund asked suspiciously. "I thought only mad people went to asylums." "It’s the Bainbridge Asylum for female orphans," Jane-Anne explained. "I’m female and I’m an orphan, and I wish I wasn’t. I’m at school there and I hate it. But I’m generally ill, so I have to go to the hospital, and there it’s lovelly." "Why are you ill?" asked Edmund. "It’s so cold. If I go on being ill any more," she added hopefully, "they won’t keep me. It’s because I’m an orphan I have to go—it makes it easier for aunt." "But we’re orphans too and we don’t go to asylums," Edmund objected. "Ah," said Jane-Anne, "you’re rich, you see." "Indeed we’re not," said Montagu. "We’re very poor really; Aunt Esperance said so." "Poor!" echoed Jane-Anne scornfully, "and live in that beautiful house and have Aunt Martha for a servant. Oh, no, you can’t be poor—not really." "You see, there’s Guardie, he takes care of us," Montagu explained, "but we’re really orphans, too, you know." "Are you? I’m so sorry," and she looked it. "Oh, you needn’t be a bit sorry for us. We’re very jolly, thank you," and Edmund spoke in rather an offended tone. Pity was the last thing he expected or desired. "I beg your pardon," she said quickly. "I know it’s quite different for you; you’re gentry, you see." The boys glanced at one another and were horribly uncomfortable. In some queer, subconscious way they felt that they had unaccountably and unintentionally been "snobby" to Jane-Anne. "Come on," said Edmund, "we’re wasting time."