"We shall, I think, do little good by discussing the question. Only I must beg you to remember one thing, Sir Cyril—that I do not meet or acknowledge Captain Lucas or his wife. And, excuse me—in your position you ought to be careful. You do not know what you may be drawn into."
Sir Cyril made a little gesture of comprehension, not of assent, and Lady Lucas swept her trailing skirts away. Sybella was on a more distant sofa, and thither the lady retreated. A murmured conference between the two began.
"You have been quite wrong, my dear," Lady Lucas said softly. "Sir Cyril ought to have been put into some regular profession—the Army, or anything—for a few years. I told you so long ago. He will get into mischief from the sheer lack of something to do."
Then an interruption came. Jean still stood upon the rug; and Cyril remained where Lady Lucas had left him, lost in thought. Emmeline's dark sunny little face was before his mind's eye.
"I will call—of course, I will call. What rubbish!" he said to himself.
A curious croaking sound drew the attention of all—a sound as of something giving way.
"Jean!" her father called in an agitated shout from the bow-window. "Back, Jean!!" He was too far to do more than shout, as he saw the great mirror over the mantelpiece seem to detach itself, and for an appreciable fraction of a second lean forward. Jean, with her instinct of obedience, born of long habit, sprang back, not hesitating for even the fraction of a second; while Cyril, hearing both the loud crack and the warning cry, as instinctively started forward. The huge mirror crashed heavily down; one sharp edge tearing a wide rent down Jean's white skirt, and bringing her to her knees; the other striking Cyril prostrate.
Sybella's shrieks almost drowned the loud crash of shattered glass: Sybella herself keeping at a safe distance. The gentlemen made a simultaneous rush forward; and Jean spoke calmly: "I am not hurt. Please see to Cyril. Never mind me."
Five pairs of hands lifting the massive frame released both; and Jean sprang to her feet. She had been pinned down by the weight pressing on her skirt, but was entirely uninjured.
Mr. Trevelyan held her fast, his hands visibly shaking, and his face grey. "My child! You are sure! Nothing wrong?" he said hoarsely.