Jane Admires 



Fleetwood's mother. . . . Little girls know so much 

 more than we knew when we were young, and 

 when they are women they will be so little wiser, 

 as we showed ourselves so little wiser than Mary 

 Fleetwood when it came to facts, and the foolish 

 thing that was there to do. 



Jane sighs, and turns away from Mary Fleet- 

 wood's only work of art, and stands before a coarse, 

 full-bellied, dark-blue jug that came from Bruges, 

 and has borne many a quart of Flemish ale to 

 Flemish lips. And she gives a timid little chuckle 

 of delight at a pair of silly Dresden figures striking 

 attitudes worthy of the Curly-headed Family, 

 under their blue canopies. 



Next she sees a drawing of Miss Ellen Terry 

 as " Nance Oldfield " ! It is not at all like Miss 

 Terry really, though in the line there is caught 

 something of her vitality, her grace, and the charm- 

 ing quality of life that make her one of England's 

 rarest and most precious possessions. 



I whisper to Jane. 



" No — not really ? " says Jane. 



" Yes. Indeed ! " 



" What ! . . . She came here ! " 



And Jane thinks of the incomparable woman 

 descending from the (stage) sky against which she 

 always sees her in her funny little imagination; and 



3 1 



