“And she takes it so easily. She is not a bit daunted,” said Mrs. Bland,
shaking her head.
“Perhaps that’s all the better,” said the vicar; but the old couple were
almost alarmed, in spite of themselves, at Janet’s calm.
If they had but known! She went upstairs quietly enough with a composed
step. But when she got to her own room, which was, happily, at the other
end of the house, Janet threw down on her bed the things she was
carrying, which were presents from her old friends--a writing-case from
one, a work-basket from the other--and danced, actually danced a lively
old hornpipe step, which she had learned when she was a child. She did
it before the glass, and nodded and smiled at herself as she bobbed up
and down. Then stretching out her arms, flung herself in the old
easy-chair and, said, “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” softly under her breath
“The last night,” said Janet to herself. The last of all this dull old
life, which she knew in every feature, which never had anything new in
it--no excitement, no change: but to do the same things at the same
hours every day, and come in to meals and sit down in the same chair,
and go to church and go to bed. She was not at all without affection for
the people who were so kind to her, but to feel herself upon the edge of
the unknown went to Janet’s head. It was like laughing gas, or
champagne, or any other stimulant to gayety. The idea intoxicated her.
As for all the dolorous pictures that had been placed before her, she
believed none of them. To go off among people she had never seen, to
plunge into the midst of a life she knew nothing about, to become a
member of a family whose name alone she knew--it was like beginning a
new world to Janet. She would have everything to find about them--their
Christian names, their stories, if they had any; perhaps the family
story, if there was one--the skeleton in the closet, the romance;
whatever there might be. What fun! she said to herself, clapping her
hands. Even the new place would be something to begin with--the new home
and customs, the new rooms.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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