Rose Aviolet came to see them again, but this time she did not bring Cecil with her. She arrived on foot and with something of the aspect of one who has embarked upon an illicit expedition and is anxious to forestall comment on the proceedings.
“I can’t stay, but I wanted a walk, and so I—I came this way. I wanted to tell you how awfully sorry I was about my little boy having taken your musical box—but indeed he didn’t understand what he was doing.”
“My dear, of course he didn’t. Don’t let’s say any more about it.”
“You are good!” Rose informed her hostess with ardent thankfulness in her voice. “And your brother was awfully kind that morning he came up to Squires, too. I wanted to thank him.”
She turned her liquid brown eyes upon Maurice Lucian.
“You know, he’d have owned up, I think, if it had only been you and me there. He didn’t make any fuss at all about telling me, when they first found out about it.”
“You think he’s afraid of Lady Aviolet, then?”
She hesitated.
“He is, and he isn’t. She doesn’t ever punish him, you know. I shouldn’t let any one but me punish him—but she and that Ford have such a way of making one feel as if they despised one for doing anything wrong.”
Lucian nodded.