"Ten years! Twenty years!" groaned Cyril. "And to have cut myself off from her—by—this!"
[CHAPTER XIII.]
BOULEVERSEMENT.
"She's bonny, blooming, straight and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my very saul,
The kind love that's in her e'e."
R. BURNS.
CYRIL had not remembered to lock the door, and he became speedily aware of his mistake. It opened, and a head was inserted.
"Cyril—?"
No answer; so Miss Devereux walked in, and stood looking down on the prone figure: some real solicitude mingling with her dissatisfaction.
"Shall I send for Dr. Ingram?"
"No, thanks. I only wish to be left in peace."
"But, Cyril—! Something must be wrong! If you are not ill, something must have happened. I can't imagine what has come over you to-day . . . I daresay, after all, it has to do with those Trevelyans . . . I almost always find, if you are out of temper, that Jean is at the bottom of it . . . Of course, it can't really be that you care so much about that odious man—Captain Lucas, I mean. Impossible, you know . . . After all, I really do believe, it is only that something has disagreed with you. If you will take such violent exercise, and eat such unwholesome food, what can one expect? Why, that stew yesterday—my digestion would not stand it for a moment! I shall tell cook never to send it up again."