“I love you,” said Gwen, with a vehement hug.
“Have you only room for one person in your heart?”
“I rather love Herr Frithiof,” said Gwen, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.
They both smiled, and Cecil, seeing that little would be gained by discussing the matter, got up and led them toward the drawing-room, her pale, brave face contrasting curiously with Gwen’s rosy cheeks and rebellious little air.
Mr. Boniface sat talking to the new-comer kindly enough. They both rose as Cecil and the children entered.
“This is my daughter,” said Mr. Boniface.
And Cecil shook hands with the ex-prisoner, and looked a little anxiously into his face.
He was rather a pleasant-looking man of five-and-thirty, and so much like Lance that she could not help feeling kindly toward him. She hoped that the children would behave well, and glanced at Gwen nervously.
But Gwen, who was a born flirt, speedily forgot her dislike, and was quite willing to meet the stranger’s advances half-way. In two minutes’ time she was contentedly sitting on his knee, while Lance stood shyly by, studying his father with a gravity which was, however, inclined to be friendly and not critical. When he had quite satisfied himself he went softly away, returning before long with a toy pistol and a boat, which he put into his father’s hands.
“What is this?” said Mr. Grantley.