“Edward—you here?” said Cyril. “Why don’t you come and see mother?”—he was going to say Violet, but he checked himself.
“I want to see, not Mrs Home, but Violet,” said Kennedy; “you know our engagement is broken off, Cyril; I have only come to say farewell, before I leave England, perhaps for ever. Call Violet here alone.”
Cyril, who had heard of Kennedy’s wild ways at college, and of the dreadful story that had raised against him the suspicion of intended suicide, hesitated a moment, as though he were half-afraid or unwilling to fulfil the commission. But Kennedy said to him sorrowfully—“You need not fear, Cyril, that you will be doing wrong. Tell Frank first, and then you can stay near, while I speak for a few minutes to your sister.”
Cyril called down his brother from the tree, and told him that Kennedy was there. “Stay here, Frankie, while I fetch Violet; Edward wants to bid her good-bye.”
He ran off, and said—“Come here, Vi; Frank and I have something to show you.”
“Is it anything very particular?” said Violet, “for I shall disturb Julian’s reading if I go away.”
“Yes, something very particular.”
“Won’t you tell me what?”
“Why, a squirrel’s nest for one thing, which Frank has found. Do come.”
“You imperious boys, at home for your holidays!” she said, smiling; “Punch hasn’t half cured you of your tyranny to us poor sisters.” She rose to follow him, and when they had gone a few steps, he said—