"I think he will be an immense help. He promises me to well look after your father. He is just the man for it—kind and thoughtful, and a thorough gentleman. And so very good."
"Mother—"
Something in the voice made Mrs. Lucas look into her daughter's face.
"Mother—Sir Cyril came yesterday—when you were busy, you know. And—"
"He did not see your father?"
"No. I knew you were both in the morning-room. I did offer to call you, but he said there was no need. And I knew you could not well come. But, mother—he—"
The crimsoning face drooped, and Mrs. Lucas' heart beat fast. She drew Emmie closer.
"Yes. He—?"
"He said—something. Something that I must tell you . . . I always tell you everything . . . He asked—He wants me—to be his wife."
Mrs. Lucas could hardly control her thrill of astonishment. She had feared some trembling avowal of Emmie's feelings towards Sir Cyril; but she had not looked for this. It had been a settled matter in her imagination that Sir Cyril was in love with Jean Trevelyan.