“Well,” he observed again, “He’s a handful. You’ll have to keep an eye on him, I can tell you.”
Frances was startled; was he talking to her?... She looked up and caught his gaze, melancholy and kindly, fixed on her.
“You’ll have all you can manage, with him,” he continued.
She was alarmed and confused. It wasn’t possible that he thought.... And yet, very evidently, he did think so, for he went on, with a sort of gloomy archness:
“I hope he won’t be too much for you.”
She was anxious to refute the suggestion of any responsibility for Lionel, to tell this brother, subtly and politely, but unmistakably, that he misread the situation. But she could not, on the spur of the moment, think of anything that would do.
“I don’t really know Mr. Naylor very well,” she attempted.
Horace smiled.
“Plenty of time!” he said.
And this time his glance wandered to his brother, and was curiously altered, rested upon that futile young face with limitless fidelity and affection——