"INDOORS, my love? That is right. It seems disposed to snow," observed General Villiers, entering the boudoir half-an-hour later. "Miss Trevelyan here!"
"Snow!" repeated Evelyn, turning to the window. "How pretty! Look, Jean—such great soft feathers. Yes, Jean has been here some time. I shall keep her to tea, and let Walters see her home. You are not going out, William?"
"I have a little business to attend to. It will not take very long."
"But your rheumatism—"
"That has been better lately. I am well wrapped up, and the snow does not seem much. Exercise is good for me. Are you better now, my love?"
Jean turned to the fireplace, making believe to find some object of interest on the mantelpiece. Something beyond common husbandly solicitude underlay the simple inquiry.
Jean's perceptions were very keen. She had caught one glimpse of the General's bent head and tender gravity of demeanour, one glimpse also of Evelyn's lifted remorseful face. More than that she would not see; but she could not close her ears. There was the sound of a hushed kiss, and then a murmur. Jean longed to run away, but she felt it essential to keep her back turned; and the most she could venture on, was a slight rattle of the fire-irons, to cover a possible answer.
"You are sure you won't take cold?" she heard Evelyn say next, in a stirred tremulous voice.
"No fear, dear. I have to go to the Ricketts'—yes, the cottage on the border of the wood. Not so very far. I shall be back by six o'clock, I hope."
The General came forward for a good-bye shake of the hand with Jean, so she had to face about, somewhat discomposed. Evelyn seemed to cling to her husband's side.