His assurance was remarkable. Low he bowed before Dolores when, in response to Catherine’s appeal, she followed.
“And how is mademoiselle enabled to do with the fiend-enfant?” he enquired affably.
Dolores strove to control her contempt for him. She replied that she found Jack no fiend, but a most lovable child. He must be awakening from his nap about now. Would Mrs. Cabot excuse her?
“First, my dear, won’t you ring for Annette?” Catherine made proviso.
“And how,” the marquis persisted in the wait, “is the so-famed siren enabled to do with Meester Cabot?”
Grateful for the support of madame’s frown, Dolores answered, steadily as she might: “So far Mr. Cabot has made no complaint of my methods with his son.”
“She has done wonderfully—with Jack.” Catherine smiled at Dolores her innocent smile. “I, for one, am most grateful to Miss Trent, even if John hasn’t shown his appreciation.”
“Perhaps he has not—as yet—have the opportunity.” The foreigner, too, contributed an encouraging beam.
“Just what I’ve been telling her!” Catherine approved. “Miss Trent is so very self-effacing that I fear John thinks——”
Just which of the wife’s fancies was about to be attributed to the great brain of John Cabot, Dolores never knew. She felt a sudden and vehement disinclination to hear his possible thoughts discussed before such an audience. She crossed to the gallery door.