Evelyn's glance travelled over her, taking in all particulars: then she sat down on a sofa, making Jean do the same.
"I want to know this child well," she said, with her sweet graciousness. "Yes, I suppose she is a child still—compared with me. But I have a fancy that we shall be friends some day. Will you come and see me, Jean, when I am alone, now and then?"
Jean's eyes brightened into a golden glow like sunshine. "If I may," she said.
"The oftener the better," quoth Mr. Trevelyan, who was under the power of Evelyn's magic wand, though not to such an extent as to lose his own individuality.
"Thanks! Then come often, Jean—as often as you can be spared. I must introduce you to my little boudoir. Only think, that naughty brother of mine has not been near me since Wednesday morning."
Explanations had to be given. Jean left them to her father, and Mr. Trevelyan said no more than was needful, but Evelyn drew certain particulars from him by skilful questioning.
"The old story," she said. "My aunt will do her best to spoil him. After all, the only hope lies in school."
"Cyril doesn't want to be a coddle," spoke up Jean in his defence.
"You and he are great friends, are you not?"
"I don't know. Yes; I suppose so," Jean answered slowly, as if anxious to be exact.