He could not rest or stand still, but walked to and fro, unquiet with very joyousness, as he pictured Jean at the Brow—Jean at his table—Jean in this study. Emmie's little face never rose between to blot out Jean's. He only felt intensely grateful to Emmie, as he realized his escape from a terrible thraldom, possibly life-long.
He would have to be careful, he knew. If Jean suspected his late fancy for Emmie—and Cyril was pretty sure she did suspect it—she would not readily put faith in his present frame of mind.
The best plan, undoubtedly, for himself and for all parties concerned, would be to make a thorough break—to get away from Dulveriford entirely. If he only had had something definite to go for! Staying on at the Brow would be awkward in many respects. To cut himself suddenly off from the Lucases would cause remark; yet to go in and out as before would be impossible. To begin at once openly seeking Jean might cause misunderstandings; yet how could he be in the place and not seek her?
Cyril gave the matter full twenty minutes of serious thought. Then he unlocked his door, and with feeling of compunction for Miss Devereux, went to the drawing-room.
Sybella was deeply aggrieved, and in cue for a sulk; but the sight of her nephew's cheerful face and alert air surprised her into speech:
"Why! But, Cyril—! Then it couldn't have been bad news?"
"It!"
"I mean your note?"
"My note! No; why should it?—" with perfect sang-froid. "I came to speak about something very different. I am thinking of a week or two in Town."
"What for?"