Sarah Jane’s eyes had been growing wider and wider with alarm and wonder. She turned round upon her heel as upon a pivot. “Now I think of it,” she said, “Matilda had better come and match her ribbon herself. It is only for the strings, and the bonnet is not more than half done--and, please, come and tell all this to mother yourself. Nancy’s a dear,” said the girl, with a look which entirely changed her aspect to her sympathetic companion. “She may have her faults, but she’s always been kind, and I can’t bear that she should be deceived. Come and tell it to them at home. Mother knows a deal--she’s cleverer than any of us; _she’ll_ know if you’re right or wrong; but I won’t have Nancy put upon, not--” cried the girl, with a vehemence of regard which only the strongest asseveration could justify--“not if I was never to have another new dress for years and years!” CHAPTER V. The unlikely pair retraced their steps rapidly, turning towards the house of the Bates’; but the effect of Durant’s revelation soon died off from the mind of Sarah Jane. She had done what duty required in taking him at once to her mother. Once told to that supreme authority, Sarah Jane felt that her mind was clear of all responsibility, and, indeed, as a matter of fact, she dismissed the burden of this new revelation long before her companion ceased his efforts to impress it upon her. She tried what she could to beguile him into lighter talk; she broke in upon him with lively observations, and little essays of friendly familiarity. The momentary agitation of sympathy which had almost interested Durant in her died away. She began to pout as he went on. “Oh, please don’t talk for ever about Arthur; I ain’t in love with Arthur, though Nancy is. I think you might find another subject,” she said. “They make a deal too much of him at home; I think, and so does Matilda, that there are nicer-looking and as gentlemanlike-looking in Underhayes as he is. What do you think of Underhayes, Mr. Durant? Is not it a pretty little place? If I had my choice I would live in London, and every night of my life I’d go to a dance or to the play. I don’t pretend to be good, as some girls are. I shouldn’t go about among the poor, or sing in church. What I’d like, would be to go to a party every night, or else to the play.” “I should think you would soon be tired of that,” said Durant; “fashionable people get quite worn out. They get pale and colourless, not fresh and blooming, like you.” “Oh,” cried Sarah Jane, feeling that this was the kind of talk in which she shone, “tell me about fashionable people, Mr. Durant! Are they a great deal prettier than we are? I suppose they look so with all their grand dresses; but I should not care to catch people by dress, and make them think me good-looking when I wasn’t; I would much rather look what I am, and then nobody would be deceived.”