"I mean it. I'm not joking. To-morrow I shall run up to Town for a few days; and I can get an outfit in no time. There isn't a grain of difficulty. I'll secure my passage at once in the same vessel and be ready to start . . . It's the most delightful thing I ever thought of. I'm sick of the Brow, and I want something to do, and I've been longing to see more of the world. The expense is nothing. I'll do my best to bring him back to you, safe and sound. Will you trust me?"
A thought came swiftly to Jean as she listened. "He has gone too far with Miss Lucas, and thinks it best to escape!"
Yet she doubted, because of his joyous air; and while the guess was not so very wide of the mark, Jean was ignorant of attendant circumstances. She did not know what to believe, and answered slowly, after some hesitation: "Yes; if you really wish to go, for your own sake. It would be the greatest relief—of course—to know that somebody would be with him."
"For my own sake—and for his—and most of all for your sake!"
"No, not for mine. But if you seriously think of going to Australia for your own sake, then I should be only too thankful if you could be in the same ship with my father."
"Most of all for your sake, Jean!"
Cyril repeated the words emphatically, and it was impossible to mistake his meaning. No flush came to Jean's pale cheek, as she replied, "Call it what you like. I shall be very grateful."
"I don't want gratitude. I want something different. When I come back—Jean, listen to me—don't turn away! I have no right to speak now—I know I have not—but when I come back—"
He had not meant to say this; the words seemed to be wrenched from him.
"Stop, Cyril! Hush! I must go upstairs."