"You were about as plucky as any girl could be," decided Cyril. "But I say, Jean, you ought to take warning. It's not right for you to be wandering about in all sorts of wild places alone. I wonder Mr. Trevelyan doesn't see. You ought to take more care, really."
"I hope my father will not meet Barclay. You are sure he went down the Gorge—not up? Oh, I am all right again—" in answer to renewed inquiries. "I can't think why I was so stupid. Do you really not mind waiting a few minutes? My father is sure to come directly."
"As if I could leave you for the chance of another fright!" Cyril seated himself on the rock beside Jean, and chatted on matters indifferent, winning her thoughts from the past scene.
He had not been so like his old self for a good while; though it was an old self with new elements intermixed. Presently a break occurred: and as Jean was about to recur to Mr. Trevelyan's long absence, he dashed into a new subject.
"Jean—there is something I want to ask of you!"
"Yes. What?"
"I want you to be kind to some friends of mine, coming to live in Dulveriford."
"What name?"
"Captain and Mrs. Lucas. Nephew of old Lady Lucas, and . . . Then you have heard—?"
"Not much. But, Cyril—! Friends of yours!"