She sought her bower at seven o’clock, while her aunt was safely engaged in the final preparations for Mr. Wycherly’s dinner. She had no time for reading and meditation at bed-time, for Mrs. Dew always came to take away the candle. Her aunt mistrusted Jane-Anne ever since she had set her hair on fire one evening in Jeune Street. When she reached her room she found that her box had been put back in the corner and her dressing-gown was hanging behind the door. This constantly happened. Jane-Anne muttered something that sounded like "interfering old thing" and hastened to arrange it all again. This didn’t take long, and once the stage was set she mounted the box, and gazed out into the uninspiring stone-cutter’s yard with a suitable expression of "winning tenderness." Next she closed her eyes wearily and distantly inhaled the Scrubbs’ Ammonia in the vanilla bottle. It restored her and she opened her Bible haphazard with a sanctimonious Jack-Horner sort of expression on her thin, eager little face. She opened at the book of Job. Now this was unexplored country. Genesis she knew; Kings and Chronicles, and the greater part of the New Testament she had read. But somehow the book of Job hadn’t entered into Miss Stukely’s scheme of salvation, and Jane-Anne’s only acquaintance with Job so far had been in her aunt’s phrase, "you’d try the patience of Job," and she had vaguely pictured him as a meek old gentleman tormented by a large family of unruly children. Montagu and Mr. Wycherly had dipped into "Home Influence" anywhere. This was a new way of reading to her, and she felt she must at once do likewise. So into the end of the book of Job she thrust and started at the words, "Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades or loose the bonds of Orion," and read on aloud. Now, there was in Jane-Anne a fine feeling for the beautiful and she liked the sound of it greatly, her voice growing stronger and more impressive as she read. Especially was she carried away by the description of the horse: "_He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength; he goeth on to meet the armed men.... He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains and the shouting._" By this time, quite unconsciously, she had raised her voice very considerably, and she stopped in great confusion as her aunt bounced into the room demanding anxiously: "What ever is the matter? Who’re you a-calling out to?" "I’m only reading to myself," Jane-Anne mumbled. "Well, I wish you’d read a bit quieter," said Mrs. Dew, "frightening a body to death with ’ha-ha-in’s’ and sech. An’ what are you doin’ sitting on that there box as I put away this very afternoon? Why can’t you leave it be in the corner?"