"May I read the books in the book-case in the parlour?" she asked eagerly. "I’ll be so careful. I don’t spoil books, I truly don’t." "Certainly you may; you will find many excellent books among them, and when I come back—I’m going to London for a few days, to-morrow—you shall tell me what you have read and we’ll talk it over together." The book-case in the dining-room was full of books that had belonged to Miss Esperance, and Mr. Wycherly felt that he was perfectly safe in giving Jane-Anne permission to read any of them. He had never even troubled to see what they were. He knew there was a whole edition of Sir Walter and most of the standard novels up to about the year 1870. Many theological works, and the little gilt books—precious these—that had come to Miss Esperance from her own mother. "You won’t be long away, I hope, sir?" Jane-Anne said wistfully. "It will seem very lonely when you are gone." "I shall not be a moment longer than I can help, and I shall expect to hear all sorts of interesting news when I come back." "Do you think I could ever learn to be a lady, sir—if I can’t be a servant?" "I see no reason why you should not grow up a very charming lady." "But ladies don’t dust and wash dishes and do things like I do." "As I do," Mr. Wycherly corrected almost mechanically. Then, as if he had not spoken, he went on, "the best and most beautiful lady I ever knew did all these things." "Did she like doing them?" "I don’t think she ever thought much about what she liked or disliked. She did what she had to do, and did it better and more gracefully than anybody else." She pondered over this. It seemed to her an impossible ideal. How could anyone do a thing "more gracefully than anybody else" just because it had to be done? Liking had everything to do with Jane-Anne’s doings. When she had cleared away, Mr. Wycherly sat long over his glass of port. He did not read. He did not drink his wine, but sat on at the table staring at nothing, and wondering about the future of this queer, lonely child who had crept into his heart so quietly and imperceptibly that not till she made that astounding announcement as to her matrimonial ambitions did he realise how dear she had become. He had released the starling; it was true. The bird was very tame, and came at call to his hand; but the wings were there, young and strong and untried. When the time came for flight, whither would they bear her? * * * * * On Thursday Mr. Wycherly went to London. He was to remain over Sunday, in order to hear an old friend preach at the Temple Church. On Friday morning Jane-Anne hied her to the parlour to inspect the book-case.