"I met the General, and he mentioned that Mrs. Villiers particularly asks an early call."
"Wouldn't aunt Marie like to go?"
"No, she prefers that I should take you."
Jean's eyes shone: her usual sign of pleasure. She never thought of telling her father that she had already walked to Dutton and back. The fact would have made no difference, if he counted it her duty to go now.
"I've not seen Evelyn for a day or two," remarked Cyril, the wistful look which always strengthened his likeness to Evelyn creeping into his eyes.
Its effect upon Mr. Trevelyan was to bring the question, "Would you like to go with us?"
Cyril's answer, if short, was unequivocal. He had not entirely lost a certain boyish fear of Mr. Trevelyan, but Jean was a more than counterbalancing attraction.
They went by the road this time—a somewhat shorter route than by the fields. Mr. Trevelyan walked fast and steadily, with long swinging strides, and the other two kept pace with him as best they might: Jean easily, from long practice; Cyril less easily, though he would on no account have admitted the fact. He was better at fast running than at fast walking; and the weight of his soaked boots pulled him back.
Outside Dutton they saw the "Brow" carriage approaching, Sybella seated therein with state and dignity.
"I say!" muttered Cyril in foreboding accents.