Jane had certainly not spent the evening in an agreeable manner; she had not taken her seat at Claude’s table with any evil designs towards his letter, but his writing was clear and legible, and her eye caught the word ‘Maurice;’ she wished to know what Claude could be saying about him, and having once begun, she could not leave off, especially when she saw her own name. When aware of the compliments he was paying her, she looked at him, but his eyes were fixed on his pen, and no smile, no significant expression betrayed that he was aware of her observations; and even when he gave her the letter to put into the post-bag he looked quite innocent and unconcerned. On the other hand, she did not like to think that he had been sending such a character of her to Eleanor in sober sadness; it was impossible to find out whether he had sent the letter; she could not venture to beg him to keep it back, she could only trust to his good-nature. At luncheon, as they had agreed, Lily began by asking where her papa and William were gone? Claude answered, ‘To Stoney Bridge, to call upon Mr. Stevens; they mean to ask him to dine one day next week, to be introduced to his pupils.’ ‘Is he an Oxford or Cambridge man?’ asked Lily. ‘Oxford,’ exclaimed Jane, quite forgetting whence she had derived her information, ‘he is a fellow of—’ ‘Indeed?’ said Lily; ‘how do you know that?’ ‘Why, we have all been talking of him lately,’ said Jane. ‘Not I,’ said Emily, ‘why should he interest us?’ ‘Because he is to tutor the boys,’ said Jane. ‘When did you hear that he is to tutor the boys?’ asked Lily. ‘When you did, I suppose,’ said Jane, blushing. ‘You did, did you?’ said Claude. ‘I feel convinced, if so, that you must really be what you are so often called, a changeling. I heard it, or rather read it first at Oxford, where the Baron desired me to make inquiries about him. You were, doubtless, looking over my shoulder at the moment. This is quite a discovery. We shall have to perform a brewery of egg-shells this evening, and put the elf to flight with a red-hot poker, and what a different sister Jane we shall recover, instead of this little mischief-making sprite, so quiet, so reserved, never intruding her opinion, showing constant deference to all her superiors—yes, and to her inferiors, shutting her eyes to the faults of others, and when they come before her, trying to shield the offender from those who regard them as merely exciting news.’ Claude’s speech had become much more serious than he intended, and he felt quite guilty when he had finished, so that it was not at all an undesirable interruption when Phyllis and Adeline asked for the story of the brewery of egg-shells. Emily and Lilias kindly avoided looking at Jane, who, after fidgeting on her chair and turning very red, succeeded in regaining outward composure. She resolved to let the matter die away, and think no more about it.