he said there’d been no comfort in the house since we’d had children. And I cared nothing about him, he said, and only about the baby and Ernest. And he went on like a beast, as he is! I hate him!”
“Oh no, not a bit of it!” said Jane, seeing the opportunity for a transition to jest.
“I do! And you may go upstairs and tell him so.”
“All right; I will.”
Jane ran upstairs and knocked at the door of the parlour. A gruff voice bade her enter, but the room was nearly in darkness.
“Will you have a light, Mr. Byass?”
“No— thank you.”
“Mr. Byass, Mrs. Byass says I’m to say she hates you.”
“All right. Tell her I’ve known it a long time. She needn’t trouble about me; I’m going out to enjoy myself.”
Jane ran back to the kitchen.
“Mr. Byass says he’s known it a long time,” she reported, with much gravity. “And he’s going out to enjoy himself.”
