"I have. The daughter is a nice little girl. Not quite desirable for Cyril, though."
"Oh, I should not think—!" and a pause. "Yes, he is always going there. But I thought it was Captain Lucas."
"Perhaps you are right. I hope so. Good-bye for the moment."
Jean went slowly back to the drawing-room, thinking—not of her father, but of Cyril. "Can it be?" she asked. "Cyril—to marry Miss Lucas! Why didn't I see before?"
She tried to laugh, then threw herself back in an easy-chair; an unwonted action for Jean, little given to lounging.
"Oh, how tired I am! I shouldn't have been half so tired if I had gone up gorge! . . . Cyril to do—that! But why not? . . . Cyril!"
She heard herself sigh, as she might have heard another person sigh.
"Well—why not? After all, why not? If it will make him happy!"
Nine o'clock struck before feet sounded on the gravel-walk; and Jean hastened out to open the door. Mr. Trevelyan came in slowly, leaning on Jem's arm.
"He's rather done!" Jem said cheerily. "But all right, now we are back. The study, Jean—and he shall have some hot brandy and water at once. No, I know he doesn't take stimulants commonly; but to-night he must! We'll do our best to keep out the chill. Smithson came half-way, and then I sent him back."