"O no!" And Jean smiled, for she could be a very Spartan for Oswald's sake. The reality of her love for him made it impossible that she should put the thought of her own pleasure before the thought of his. "He will get leave again soon."
"I don't see any especial reason for saying 'no.' Young fellows naturally like variety." After a break, and in a different voice, he said, "You saw Mrs. Villiers yesterday afternoon?"
"Yes." Jean lifted pained eyes to her father. "I don't quite understand Evelyn," she said slowly. "Please don't say anything to anybody."
"No. You find her changed."
"Not exactly. She is, and yet she isn't. Not changed really in herself. She was as dear and kind to me as ever."
Jean paused, and appeared to swallow something down with difficulty.
"But she seems to have set herself to be like her husband—like him in everything. She told me so, and she asked me to tell you. It is because she thinks she ought. She will always go to St. John's now—evening as well as morning—and she will try hard to like Mr. Kennedy's sermons, and to care for General Villiers' friends—even that dreadful Colonel Atherstone. She had a pile of little tracts on her table, that General Villiers used to be fond of, and I suppose she had been reading them. I don't know why she shouldn't. Only, it is all because she is sure it would please him, you know. I don't like to say it, but I couldn't help fancying it was just a little as if she were acting a part in a drama. Only she doesn't feel that."
"No; she is genuine always, to the best of her self-knowledge."
"Yes—I am sure she is. And, father, if she should see less of us now than she used, we are to know—to understand—that it is because of him—because she thinks—" Jean hesitated again, "because she thinks she has been wrong. She cried so, and I told her I could not see it—but—of course if she feels it right—"
"Of course! I have foreseen this."