'Jean!' he called upon so stern a note that people stared and stopped.
Others—not Jean.
CHAPTER XVII
A little before six o'clock on that same Sunday, Jean Dunbarton opened the communicating door between her own little sitting-room and the big bare drawing-room of her grandfather's house in Eaton Square. She stood a moment on the threshold, looking back over her shoulder, and then crossed the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs. She went straight to the window, and was in the act of parting the lace curtains to look out, when she heard the folding doors open. With raised finger she turned to say 'Sh!' The servant stood silently waiting, while she went back to the door she had left open and with an air of caution closed it.
When she turned round again the butler had stepped aside to admit Mr. Stonor. He came in with a quick impatient step; but before he had time to get a word out—'Speak low, please,' the girl said. He was obviously too much annoyed to pay much heed to her request, which if he thought about it at all, he must have interpreted as consideration for the ailing grandfather.
'I waited a full half-hour for you to come back,' he said in a tone no lower than usual.
The girl had led the way to the side of the room furthest from the communicating door. 'I am sorry,' she said dully.
'If you didn't mind leaving me like that,' he followed her up with his arraignment, 'you might at least have considered Lady John.'