He glanced down at Jehane quickly: she interested him—there was something about her that he could not understand. The long penciled brows, the thick lashes, the cloudy eyes and the straight, pale features attracted and yet repelled him. He felt that she was not happy and had never been quite happy. The natural generosity of the man made him eager to hear her speak about herself.
But Jehane was aware that she had struck a discord in what she had said. He had flinched like a child, with whom the thought of pain had not yet become a habit. She made haste to cover up her error by directing attention to himself.
“But you—what are you?”
“I’m a pub.”
“A pub! But you can’t be. You don’t mean that you——”
Nan caught his arm in her merriment and leant across him. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s a publisher. He always did clip his words.”
“But not the Barrington—father’s publisher?”
“Yes, the Barrington. It’s funny, Jehane, but it can’t be helped. Anyhow, he’s only Billy now.”
Barrington stood still, eying the two girls—the one fair and all mischief, the other dark and serious. “What’s the matter with you, Miss Usk? Why do you object?”
“If I told you, you might not like it.”