“Have I, Sir John?” said the girl, demurely. “How shockingly vulgar! Then I must wear a veil.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t, my dear child,” cried the baronet, hastily. “Pray, don’t insult poor nature by refusing to look healthy and well.”
“I join in my brother’s prayer,” said the major, as he shook hands in a quiet, old-fashioned, chivalrous way.
“And so do I,” said Glynne, smiling in a calm, strangely placid manner. “Do you know, Lucy, I’ve been enjoying your colour as I painted.”
“James, old fellow,” said the baronet, laughing, “let’s be in the fashion. How handsome you do look this morning. How your hair curls.”
“Uncle always looks handsome,” said Glynne, seriously, and she sent a thrill of pleasure through the old man, by quietly taking his arm and leaning towards him in a gentle, affectionate way.
“And I’m nobody, Miss Alleyne,” said Sir John with mock annoyance.
“You would not think so, if you heard all that Glynne says about you when we are alone, Sir John.”
“Oh, come, that’s better,” cried the baronet, nodding and brightening up. “Well, I must go. I suppose you will walk back with uncle, eh, Glynne?”
“Yes, papa,” said Glynne, smiling on him tenderly.