"Oh yes," said Lucilla.
"Then good-bye. Guardians don't count," said Mr. Tombs, and the next moment Lucilla was watching his tweed back disappearing in the shrubbery and realising that she had again been kissed; and this time not on her hand.
That was thirdly.
••••••
Fourthly occurred after a breathless tea, where the Thorntons had been talked over—very gently—and Mr. Tombs' sudden departure had been attributed by Miss Antrobus to an objection, natural in a shy man, to being mixed up with such a shady business as a house where burglars were harboured. Presently Miss Antrobus withdrew to inspect the cottage. Lucilla and Jane had hardly exchanged three words before John Rochester burst in upon them with fourthly.
And fourthly really was a facer. He came in with a letter in his hand, and he did not say, "Good afternoon," or "How do you do," or any of the things that one does say when there is nothing the matter. He was very pale—not at all a becoming pallor, Lucilla thought—and he said straight away—like that:
"Look here—that uncle of mine"
"Not dead?" said Jane.
"No, I wish he—no, of course I don't mean that. But he oughtn't to be at large. At least, he oughtn't to be trusted with houses—he doesn't know when they're well off."
"He's going to turn us out," said Jane. "Oh, I knew it was all too good to last. I told Lucy so—didn't I, Lucy?"
"Only out of Cedar Court," said Rochester. "Just the house. You can still have the garden and the garden room and the stables and cottages. He's lent the house now to a Theosophist Brotherhood. It's exactly like him. And he's somewhere in Thibet himself, so I can't reason with him."
"Oh well," said Jane slowly, "we've had a lovely time. We shall have to go back to Hope Cottage, that's all. I suppose it will be a lark going back to the dear little house."
