Poor Janet! Her thoughts were sad and worried thoughts, as she waited,
trying to read, in the drawing-room. At the very last, Betty had lingered
for a moment after the others, and she had noticed that the girl's eyes
were full of tears.
"Why, Betty, what's the matter? I don't think we need really worry over
Mrs. Crofton."
"I'm not thinking of Mrs. Crofton. I can't bear the thought of poor
Josephine being shot to-morrow morning."
"Oh, my dear, don't _you_ turn sentimental! I never did like that poor
cat; to me there's always been something queer and uncanny about her."
"You've never liked cats," Betty answered, rather aggressively. "Timmy
and I are devoted to Josephine--so is Nanna."
Janet had checked the contemptuous words trembling on her lips. Abruptly
she had changed the subject: "I want to tell you, Betty, how splendidly
the dinner went off to-night. Your cooking was first chop!"
Betty at once softened. But all she said was: "I would give anything for
Mrs. Crofton to leave Beechfield, Janet. Did you see Jack's face?"
"Yes, and I do feel worried about it. Yet one can't do anything."
"I suppose one can't. But it's too bad of her. I think her a horrid
woman.
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