Jean felt awed, almost afraid of him.
When she parted with him, she said a little timidly—
"Thank you so much for coming with me, but I ought not to have troubled you. I am accustomed to go about alone."
"My mother has old-fashioned notions, and I have inherited them," he replied, with a smile that swept away every line of sternness from his face. "Good-night."
Jean went into her lonely rooms that night with a sense of warmth and protection such as she had not felt since Colonel Douglas and his wife had left London.
A few days afterwards, she went to see Sunnie. She found her apparently unchanged, her little face perhaps slightly whiter and more transparent in texture, but her shining eyes and dancing smile were still undimmed and undaunted.
Mrs. Gordon was sitting by her, and as she turned to greet her visitor Jean wondered at the subdued sweetness and gentleness of her smile.
She had the same erectness and dignity of carriage, but the cold hardness, the determined set of lips and brows, had disappeared.
"If you will stay with Sunnie for half an hour or so," she said, "I will go away, for I have a good many letters to write."
Jean gladly acquiesced, and Sunnie stretched out her small hand to take hold of hers.