[CHAPTER II.]
OLD FATHER THAMES.
"I'm a woman, sir,—
I use the woman's figures naturally.
. . . So I wish you well,
I'm simply sorry for the griefs you've had."
E. B. BROWNING.
OSWALD had not turned up when they reached the lodgings. A note was there, apologising for his failure, which of course "could not be helped," and promising to appear next day—a great relief to Jean. His defection had troubled her sorely, and she was thankful to know—or at least to be assured—that he was not blameable. Jean believed in Oswald as of old, loving him with the warmest love she had at command. No human being had ever yet been dearer to her than Oswald, and nothing else could equal that delight of her heart, a day with Oswald. As of old, she lavished pure gold, to receive brass in exchange.
Still, an afternoon with Jem brought pleasure. She had always looked up to Jem, rested on Jem's judgment, given Jem cousinly affection. There was a placid satisfaction in the certainty that Jem never misunderstood her, which she could not feel in Oswald's companionship.
The two had not met for more than a year, and Jem studied Jean carefully through lunch.
She had altered, even during those months, and much more during the years since General Villiers' death.
Jean had reposeful manners, old for her age. She was tall and slender; and her features had worked their way to regularity of outline. A slight droop in the eyelids gave shade, the month had gained in mobility and sweetness, the paleness was not sallow in kind. Moreover, the eyebrows seemed to have grown darker, the lips were redder, and the hair, for years clipped short, had expanded into a goodly mass of gamboge-brown.
Of course she had not yet come to her full development. Who has, at twenty? Unless it be a mushroom specimen of human nature. But strength and gentleness were there already, in balanced combination. Jean had not grown like a crooked apple-tree, all to one side.
Simplicity of dress remained, characteristic in kind. Boots and gloves were irreproachable. Superfluous trimmings were non-existent. The severe folds of her skirt gained grace from the figure they clothed, and the neat cap, thrown aside during lunch, was almost boy-like in its plainness; only nothing could look boy-like over that pure womanly face.