Jane-Anne flung her arms round his neck and kissed him, and yet again he opened the door for her as she went out. The following afternoon Mrs. Dew sent her out to do some messages, and while she was outside a shop—there were hats in that shop, and Jane-Anne flattened her nose against the window in her enthusiastic interest—two ladies came out to a carriage that was waiting at the kerb. The ladies were gorgeously arrayed, evidently on their way to some party, and she turned to stare after them admiringly. The footman slammed the door, leapt upon the box, and the carriage started, when she observed that one of the ladies had dropped her purse in the gutter. It was a pretty trifle made of links of gold in the shape of a little bag. She picked it up at once and darted after the carriage, calling out to them to stop, but the ladies shook their heads at her and the coachman was far too exalted a personage to take any notice at all. The footman did just look round, but he regained his proud immobility in the next second of time. There was a good deal of traffic that afternoon and the carriage could not get along very fast. Jane-Anne ran after it, never letting it get out of sight, though she was breathless and tired, and her heart thumped in her ears in a fashion that was rather too realistically reminiscent of Bruey to be altogether agreeable. She was almost giving up in despair when the carriage turned in through big gates. Faint, but pursuing, Jane-Anne followed and ran up the broad path after it. There were many gaily dressed people standing about, who stared at her, and numbers of other carriages so that the one she followed had to go very slowly. She came up with it just as it stopped at an entrance. The ladies saw her. "Go away, little girl," said the younger crossly; "we have nothing for you, and you have no business to follow us." Too breathless and exhausted to speak, Jane-Anne held out the purse towards her. "Good gracious! I must have dropped it, and you followed us; how very kind. I suppose I’d better give her something," in an aside to her companion. "I hope I’ve got some small change. Here you are, and thank you very much." She selected sixpence and held it out towards Jane-Anne. Now Jane-Anne wanted that sixpence dreadfully, for she hadn’t a farthing in the world; but she had conceived a dislike for the lady; she was indignant at being taken for a beggar, and having somewhat recovered her breath, she said very distinctly: "No, thank you; but I think you might have told the coachman to stop, then I shouldn’t have had to run so far," and with her head in the air, she set off down the drive again. A good many people had arrived at the door, and they were all listening.