"I shall come and call on you at Spaborough," he vowed.
"Of course," she agreed; people called with much less excuse than this in Sirene.
"We might do some sailing."
She clapped her hands with such spontaneous pleasure of anticipation that Mr. Vibart remarked how easy it was to see that she had lived abroad. But almost before the echo of her pleasure had died away her eyes had filled with tears, for she was thinking how heartless it was of her to rejoice at the prospect of sailing when it was sailing that had caused her father's death. Anxious not to hurt Mr. Vibart's feelings, Jasmine began to explain breathlessly why she was looking so sad. The young man was silent for a minute when she stopped; then, weighing his words in solemn deliberation, he said:
"And, of course, that's why you're wearing black."
Jasmine nodded.
"I've brought with me all that were left of father's pictures. For presents, you know." She sighed.
"I know," said the young man wisely. He had in his own valise a cigar-holder for Sir John Vibart, the expense of procuring which he hoped would be more than covered by a parting cheque.
"And I should like to show them to you," Jasmine went on. "Perhaps we could get one out and look at it in the train."
"Hadn't we better wait until I come and call?" he suggested. "It's not fair to look at things in the train. Trains wobble so, don't they?"