This easy mode of existence did not spoil Jean. The reign of duty in her life was too strong to be so soon disturbed; and while her nature, like all sensitive natures—by "sensitive" I do not mean ill-tempered—was peculiarly open to new impressions, her principles were firm. She had no wish to live always such a life; but there was a wondrous charm in its freshness.
Perhaps the most curious part of these weeks to Jean, was the finding herself so completely cut off from home interests. Neither Mr. Trevelyan nor Madame Collier were good correspondents, and Jean seldom had a line from either; nor did Evelyn write. Mrs. Trevelyan inquired duly at intervals after Jean's home-people; but she knew nothing of Dulveriford, nothing of the Brow, the Gorge, or Dutton, nothing of Miss Devereux, Cyril, Evelyn, or the General.
Jean had been at first glad to escape questioning about late events, yet it seemed singular that Mrs. Trevelyan should not have heard more. Jean knew that Jem liked and admired Evelyn—as who did not?—and she wondered that he had not more fully related to his mother the tragical end of Evelyn's married life.
Mrs. Trevelyan did indeed once allude to—"that poor old gentleman, Jean, who was frozen to death—General What-was-his-name? And you were actually there yourself and saw it all, poor child!"
But Jean's constrained answer drew no further show of interest, and the matter was not again spoken of.
Jem's proposed appearance had been repeatedly deferred, through pressure of work.
"Don't let Jean go home, until I have seen her," he wrote more than once to his mother, and at length a day was fixed early in April.
"The very day of the party at the Hall," said Mrs. Trevelyan, after reading the letter. "Well, that cannot be helped. If Jem arrives in time, he must go with us; but the evening train is more likely, he says."
"What party?" asked Giles.
"Mrs. Wiggins—to afternoon tea. I suppose it is partly in honour of Jean; so of course we must go. She made a great point of my taking Jean; and she wants you too, Giles. I told her I would try: but I was not hopeful. If you could make up your mind once—"