Cyril had not recovered his equilibrium when he came into the drawing-room. Jean was standing on the rug, in her white dress, conspicuously tall and slight; the pale face, with its steadfast eyes, conspicuously free from self-consciousness. She was looking at a photograph; and straight as an arrow Mr. Byng went to her side. Cyril forthwith did the same. He was not going to stand that sort of thing.
Mr. Byng made some allusion to their past conversation, which Jean answered smilingly, turning a little towards him and from Cyril as she did so.
Thereupon Cyril forgot himself. If there was one subject more than another which he ought strenuously to have avoided, with Lady Lucas seated only a few yards off upon the nearest sofa, it was aught connected with family disagreeables. Whatever he might think of her mode of action, she as his guest had a right to his silence. But Cyril at that moment could only think of Jean; and in his eagerness to gain her attention, he rushed into the first remark which occurred to him.
"I say, Jean—" with subdued determination to have his own way, though with no outward sign of annoyance: "Jean!—"
Then, "I beg your pardon!" politely to Mr. Byng, and Mr. Byng retreated.
"Jean, you won't forget to take your father soon to call on my friends? You know—at the red house—"
"Captain and Mrs. Lucas! O yes," Jean answered. She too forgot about Lady Lucas. "I will remind my father. When do they come?"
"To-day. So the sooner you can go, the better."
"Hardly. It would be merciful to allow them a few days for settling in."
"Oh, no need. The house is furnished, and has been all put to rights. Only a little unpacking to do; and they are too good travellers to think anything of that. I shall go in to-morrow, and tell them to expect you."