“Jane,” she said, “you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what. St. John is a strange being⁠—”

She paused⁠—I did not speak: soon she resumed⁠—

“That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he never showed to anyone else⁠—to what end? I wish he loved you⁠—does he, Jane?”

I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; “No, Die, not one whit.”