“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness—”
“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey.
McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so modest, so unassuming.
To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any question of playing upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, how encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks different, and that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light of this unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all comfort and beauty.
It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions from the little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey.
Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture:
“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it.
“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat discussing plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at the fire, and then remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire. I’m cold.”
