to forget it.
Almost every sentence she spoke, drew attention to it. We got very sick
of it, and asked Jane to make her shut up. But Jane said: 'It doesn't
hurt you, boys; and it pleases her. Let her be.' Jane was always extra
nice to people, if she suspected they were asked down in order to make
sport for the duchess afterwards. Jane hated that sort of thing. She
couldn't say much to her aunt; but we had to be very careful how we
egged the duchess on, if Jane was within hearing. Well--one evening,
after tea, a little group of us were waiting around the fire in the
lower hall, to talk to Jane. It was Christmas time. The logs looked so
jolly on the hearth. The red velvet curtains were drawn right across,
covering the terrace door and the windows on either side. Tommy sat on
his perch, in the centre of the group, keeping a keen lookout for
cigarette ends. Outside, the world was deep in snow; and that wonderful
silence reigned; making the talk and laughter within all the more gay
by contrast--you know, that PENETRATING silence; when trees, and
fields, and paths, are covered a foot thick in soft sparkling
whiteness. I always look forward, just as eagerly, each winter to the
first sight--ah, I forgot! ... Fancy never seeing snow again! ...
Never mind. It is something to remember HAVING seen it; and I shall
hear the wonderful snow-silence more clearly than ever. Perhaps before
other people pull up the blinds, I shall be able to say: 'There's been
a fall of snow in the night.' What was I telling you? Yes, I remember.
About little Mrs. Fussy. Well--all the women had gone up to dress for
dinner; excepting Jane, who never needed more than half an hour; and
Fussy, who was being sprightly, in a laboured way; and fancied herself
the centre of attraction which kept us congregated in the hall. As a
matter of fact, we were waiting to tell Jane some private news we had
just heard about a young chap in the guards, who was in fearful hot
water for ragging. His colonel was an old friend of Jane's, and we
thought she could put in a word, and improve matters for Billy. So Mrs.
Fussy was very much de trop, and didn't know it. Jane was sitting with
her back to all of us, her feet on the fender, and her skirt turned up
over her knees. Oh, there was another one, underneath; a handsome silk
thing, with rows of little frills,--which you would think should have
gone on outside. But Jane's best things are never paraded; always
hidden. I don't mean cl