She went quickly, aware that if she suffered herself to pause, that overpowering shyness would seize upon her again.
Guided by the scent of cigarette-smoke, she entered the dining-room. Sir Eustace was seated at a writing-table near the window. He looked up swiftly at her entrance.
"Awake at last!" he said, and would have risen with the words, but she reached him first and checked him.
"Eustace! Oh, Eustace!" she said. "I—I—Biddy has just told me—"
He frowned, as she stopped in confusion, steadying herself rather piteously against his shoulder. But in a moment, seeing her agitation, he put a kindly arm around her.
"Biddy is an old fool—always was. Don't take any notice of her! What a ferment you're in, child! What's the matter? There, sit down!"
He drew her down on to the arm of his chair, and she leaned against him, striving for self-control.
"You—you are so—so much too good," she murmured.
He smiled rather grimly. "No one ever accused me of that before! Was that the staggering piece of information that Biddy has imparted to you?"
"No," she said, a fleeting smile upon her awn face. "It was—it was—about Scott. It took my breath away,—that's all."