Sir Thomas evidently shrank from the idea.
“For Blanche’s sake, I do think it should be better, Sir Thomas. You speak as he that hath heard this right from Don Juan himself; for me, I have but heard it from you.”
“Well, if needs must—for Blanche’s sake, then,” said her father, sighing. “Pray you, send the child hither.”
In another minute Blanche came in, with a warm welcome for her father in eyes and voice.
“So thou comest home to-morrow, my skylark!” he said. “Art thou glad, or sorry, Blanche?”
“Oh, glad, Father!”
“And all we be glad likewise.—Blanche, Don John is gone to London.”
“Yes, I guessed so much,” she answered, in a rather constrained tone.
“And ere he went, my darling, he said somewhat unto me which I reckon it best thou shouldst hear likewise.”
Blanche looked up, surprised and expectant,—perhaps with a shade of fear. Sir Thomas passed his arm round her, and drew her close to him. He anticipated a burst of tears, and was ready to console her.