Anyhow, it was the way a man
should talk--with decision.
'It's bad enough to be a wife,' put in Monkey, 'but it must be worse
still to have one!'
But Jane Anne seemed shocked. A man, Jimbo reflected, can never be
sure how his wisdom may affect the other sex; women are not meant to
know everything. She rose with dignity and went upstairs towards the
door, and Monkey, rippling with laughter, smacked her as she went.
This only shocked her more.
'That was a slight mistake behind,' she said reprovingly, looking
back; 'you should have more reserve, I think,' then firmly shut the
door.
All of which meant--so far as Jane Anne was concerned--that an
important standard of conduct--grown-up, dignified, stately in a
spiritual sense--was being transferred to her present behaviour, but
transferred ineffectively. Elsewhere Jane Anne lived it, _was_ it. She
knew it, but could not get at the part of her that knew it. The
transmitting machinery was imperfect. Connecting links and switches
were somehow missing. Yearning was strong in her, that yearning which
is common to all the world, though so variously translated. Once out
of the others' sight, she made a curious face. She went into her room
between the kitchen and the Den, flung herself on the bed, and burst
into tears. And the fears brought relief.
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