Jane-Anne murmured something unintelligible and passed out with bent head, the pie-dish effectually concealing her face. Edmund locked the door behind her and ran back to the house. Outside the garden, in Saville Road, it was very quiet. It is true there was a distant rumble of carts from Holywell and a thrush was singing in one of Mr. Wycherly’s apple-trees, but of human kind there wasn’t a sign. Jane-Anne went down on her knees, her shoulder pressed close against the garden door. "Dear God," she prayed, "I do so want to be precious too. Please let me be precious to somebody. Please do." *CHAPTER VI* *MR. WYCHERLY ADDS TO HIS RESPONSIBILITIES* "Some cheeses are made o’ skim milk and some o’ new milk, and it’s no matter what you call ’em, you may tell which is which by the look and the smell." _Adam Bede_. Next day Mrs. Methuen took the boys out on the river for the whole afternoon. She invited Mr. Wycherly to go too, but the previous day had been his first experience of his wards as oarsmen, and he came to the conclusion that he preferred their society on land. He was sitting at his writing-table in his study. The great oriel window was open and he could see that there were already patches of pink on the largest apple-tree, while the pear-trees had shed their snowy blossoms and shone brilliantly green against the blue and cloudless sky. It was a pleasant prospect from the study window: the long irregular strip of garden, with smoothly shaven lawn in the centre and winding paths among borders where vegetables, fruit and flowers grew side by side in perfect amity. The afternoon was singularly quiet, and, knowing Mr. Wycherly’s habits, one would have felt that here was an excellent opportunity for his great work on the Nikomachean ethics which had been sadly neglected during the last strenuous weeks. Yet he neither took up the pen nor did he open any of the fat, calf-bound books piled one upon another at his elbow. He sat very still, his long white hands resting idly on the arms of his chair, his kind eyes dreamy, his whole attitude eloquent of contented tranquillity. Presently there came a modest tap at the study door, followed by the entrance of Mrs. Dew with her small round tray, and on it a rather dirty piece of paper which she presented to Mr. Wycherly with the announcement: "A young person to see you, sir." Mr. Wycherly, roused from his agreeable reverie, looked bewildered. "A young person?" he repeated vaguely, "to see me. What sort of a young person, Mrs. Dew?" Mrs. Dew’s face preserved the non-committal expression of one who has seen service in really good families, as she replied: "A young woman, sir, from the Registry Office, I should suppose." Mr. Wycherly took the piece of paper off the tray and read as follows: "_M. Fairfield exp.: general character six months twelve months plain cooking age 23 very respectable._" There were no stops.