"Jem, you really have no conscience. Jean has been at work for you the whole day," drowsily remarked Mrs. Trevelyan.
"Oh, I like it. Not another word, please, mother. Yes, give me the list."
Jem delayed to scan Jean questioningly, and she met his gaze with a frank smile.
Two years and a quarter in Dutton Rectory had transmuted her into a daughter of the house. Mrs. Trevelyan was no longer "cousin" but "mother"; and Jem was a charming mixture of pastor, master, and brother.
Jean had developed fast in this new environment. She was in fuller correspondence with it than with any previous atmosphere. While not a whit less decisive and practical, she had become softer, gentler, more gracious. That half of her which had been assiduously repressed at Dulveriford Rectory was assiduously cultivated at Dutton Rectory; and Jean's whole being responded to the cultivation, opening out like a flower in warm sunshine, after long exposure to east winds. She was less shy and reserved; her smiles had learnt to come and go freely; and the old habitual gravity was replaced by habitual sunshine. This was the real Jean, never before permitted to expand into her natural outlines. Dearly as she loved her father, much as she felt the long separation from him, hardly anything could have occurred more effectual for the finishing touches needed by her womanly shape, than such a spell of Dutton Rectory life.
A second long and severe illness, several months past, through which Mr. Trevelyan had been nursed by Cyril with a daughter's devotion, had delayed the return of the travellers beyond the time originally fixed; but now they were believed to be actually en route for home, coming, for the sake of the voyage, "by long sea" round the Cape of Good Hope. Cyril's last letter, written from Melbourne, had spoken of immediately securing their passage in the "Spanish Gipsy," expected to start some three weeks or so later.
Since the receipt of this letter, no news had arrived; and such an unwonted gap in the correspondence caused much perplexity. The "Spanish Gipsy" had now been for many weeks on her way. Whether Mr. Trevelyan and Cyril were on board remained an open question, though there seemed to be no substantial reason for doubting the fact.
When they should reach England, Dutton Rectory would have to part with its "daughter;" no agreeable prospect for Jem or his mother. Jean had made herself a necessary of life to them both.
But why needed matters so to end? Gentle Mrs. Trevelyan often put this question to herself, thinking how easily and prettily a wind-up could have been effected in one of her favourite story-books. Dear Jem only had to say, "Will you marry me, Jean?" and Jean only had to say, "Yes, I will, Jem," and then they could all three live together and be happy ever after.
Dear Jem, however, showed not a ghost of an inclination to do anything of the kind. He was fond of Jean, and he sometimes remarked what a fine-looking useful girl she was; while Jean was delighted to be employed, and seemed to have an unlimited veneration for Jem's opinion on all manner of vexed questions. Yet this by no means proved that Jem wanted to marry Jean, or that Jean would have been willing to marry Jem.