Sir Cyril came in slowly, pale but smiling, his right arm bound across his chest.
"Oh, you have had an accident?" exclaimed Emmie, in distressed tones.
"Yes. Did you think me very long in making my appearance?" with a warm left-handed greeting to each.
He held Emmie's fingers a trifle longer than was quite necessary. The past talk had deepened to a lovely crimson the colour in her cheeks; and the soft dark eyes showed traces of tears, for which Cyril thought the little face looked all the sweeter. It was a sweet little face, and the very antipodes of Jean's! Two girls more unlike one another could hardly have been found. Emmie was dark and rosy, tender and plump, clinging and kitten-like. Jean was straight, slender and pale, reserved and independent.
But as for which of the two Sir Cyril admired the most? Since he himself was unable to answer that question, it is unlikely that any one else should be able to answer it for him. He only knew that he liked best for the moment whichever he happened to be with.
"We hoped to see you soon," Mrs. Lucas made answer, for Emmie was dumb.
"I should have come days ago, if I hadn't been hors de combat."
Cyril lowered himself carefully into the offered arm-chair. He was unable to bear the jar of a quick movement.
"This is the first time I have been out of the house. I am afraid my aunt will be rather scandalised; but she is gone to a kettledrum somewhere—"
Cyril did not feel obliged to state that the kettledrum was at Lady Lucas; the more since his unfortunate word "scandalised" had brought a faint flush to Mrs. Lucas' cheek.