"Nothing wrong with Evelyn?"
A pause; and then, in hushed tones—
"She does not look well, or happy. This is for yourself only. You might be some help."
"I don't see how. Why doesn't she go to you for advice?"
The question had no answer.
"I'll do as you wish, of course. But it will only be 'Miss Moggridge' again. She doesn't suit Evelyn; and nothing can make them suit . . . After all, if they were apart, would Evelyn be happier? Evelyn has always had her pet worry ever since I can remember. First it was Miss Devereux; and then the General; and then losing him; and now Miss Moggridge. If it were not Miss Moggridge, I suppose it would be something or somebody else . . . Jem, you do look tired this afternoon! What is the reason? Has Evelyn said anything to worry you?"
Jem's "Nonsense!" had an unwontedly brusque sound.
Jean was off her balance, or she would not have made the suggestion.
"I should not be surprised! I don't mean anything unkind. Nobody loves Evelyn more than I do—but that is the very reason! I mean, when she looks so sweet and sad, and those great eyes are just like a wounded collie's begging for pity—Oh, I'm every inch as absurd as anybody can be. I forget all she has in life to make her happy; and it gives me a heartache for hours after. I believe it gives you the same—or a headache," added Jean prudently, wondering why she had said so much. "I wish Evelyn had to be busy; not so much time to sit and dream."
"If you go after tea, I will call an hour later to walk home with you."