"Where's your hat, child?"
"Are we to walk home?" For the first time within Jean's recollection, the two miles to be traversed loomed before her imagination as a gigantic impossibility.
"No," in a suppressed voice. "Ingram undertook to send a fly, and it is here now. If Miss Devereux were not going to stay—" and a pause.
"She doesn't want us. But poor Evelyn!"
"Mrs. Villiers will send when she wants you. We can't force ourselves, even for her sake. Where's your ulster? To be sure—it went to be dried."
A touch of the bell brought Walters, carrying the ulster. "I did hope you'd both have stayed over the night, sir," he murmured, as he helped Jean to put it on.
"No—I think not. Miss Trevelyan has done enough. She will look round in the morning."
"Mrs. Villiers is asleep now," Jean said kindly to the man.
Mr. Trevelyan stopped to fasten some of Jean's buttons; then drew her hand within his arm. "Come, we must be off," he said. "Mind, Walters—anything we can do for Mrs. Villiers—"
"Yes, sir—I understand—thank you, sir."