For Evelyn was indeed a widow!
Not till midnight, when Dr. Ingram had departed, and when Evelyn was asleep under the influence of a semi-opiate, did Jean venture to leave her, and to steal downstairs. She believed that her father was there; but what might be the next step for either of them, Jean could not so much as conjecture. All she knew was that she herself could do and bear no more.
Mr. Trevelyan stood below, in the hall, as if at that moment expecting her. He had had a little warning from Dr. Ingram to "look after Jean!"
And he had also gone through a small passage-of-arms with Miss Devereux, wherein of course, since he was a gentleman, the lady had had the last word. Sybella felt it to be her duty—her positive duty—to circumvent the machinations of these pushing Trevelyans, and to protect her dear niece from falling hopelessly into their clutches.
She did not exactly say as much to Mr. Trevelyan, but she looked it every inch; and there was no mistaking what she meant, as she professed an eager desire not to be a burden on Mr. Trevelyan's time—he was always so busy—so much to do—and she, of course, a single lady, with so few ties—what more natural than that she should remain at the Park, and devote herself to her poor niece?
Yes, she would stay over the night, of course—oh, certainly—and as many nights as her dear niece might require her. Impossible to leave the young widow alone! Could Mr. Trevelyan think it of her? Oh, quite impossible! Would Mr. Trevelyan and Jean like to make use of her carriage to convey them home? It was so late, and of course they were fatigued. Grimshaw would think nothing—oh, nothing at all—of that little extra round on his way to the Brow. So easily managed! And really, the sooner the house was quiet for her beloved niece—though none of them could ever forget the trouble to which Mr. Trevelyan had put himself—still, at such a time, complete quiet was so very essential—
Mr. Trevelyan bowed assent. He did not wear an attractive expression at the moment. His bow was most gentlemanly, but a sardonic sneer lurked in the corners of his mouth, and his eyes scanned Miss Devereux, as they might have scanned some uncommon specimen of worm or beetle kind, from an ineffably superior intellectual height.
Sybella felt the contempt without understanding it, and she was irritated.
The passage-at-arms ended as she wished. The Trevelyans would go home that night, and would not even use her offered carriage—which in itself was a relief, since she stood greatly in awe of what the stable autocrat, Grimshaw, might say. But although she had her will, although she was to be left in undisturbed possession of the field, Sybella was not satisfied. She could never delude herself into thinking that she had the mastery of Mr. Trevelyan's iron will. He yielded: yet if he had chosen not to yield, she could not have made him.
When he stood waiting in the hall for Jean, he looked precisely as usual: upright, composed, grim. Not a hair was disorganised: not a muscle was disturbed. A close observer might perhaps have noted a slight softening of expression, as he studied his daughter.