“It will be lovely to have Gwen in Ireland,” Paddy said, as they settled themselves, “but she ought to have paid her first visit in the summer.”
Lawrence gave a little laugh.
“I don’t suppose the seasons make much difference to people in her and Bob’s happy state of mind. It’s just likely she will hardly know whether it is December or July,”—then he proceeded to shake out his big, warm rug and tuck it all round Paddy.
She tried to remonstrate, but she might as well have talked to the rug.
“I won’t worry you the whole way if you’re good, Paddy,” he said, with a smile, in which there was a touch of wistfulness; “but you’ll just have to let me take care of you; it would be any man’s right who had known you as long as I have.”
She coloured and lowered her eyes, but made no further demur. When he was satisfied he had done everything possible, and again sat down, she opened one of the papers, and buried her face in it, pretending to be carefully studying the illustrations. But in reality something of a tumult was stirring in her heart. It was so good to be taken care of—poor Paddy. The way her mother and Eileen had gone on ahead had hurt her more than any one knew, and Lawrence’s careful attentions only made her feel the contrast. If it had only been Jack—or indeed anyone but Lawrence.
He had opened a paper also and now sat quietly reading opposite to her, not attempting to worry her with conversation. Once or twice Paddy ventured to glance covertly into his thin, keen face after discovering she could do so without his knowledge.
She was wondering a little why, occasionally of late, she had experienced a wholly new and unaccountable sensation, something like dread. How could she be afraid?... she the fearless! Was it the subtle suggestion of strength? Hardly so, for Ted Masterman was no less strong, and she had never had any anxious qualms with him, nor remotest suggestion of loss of self-confidence. Was it the thin, cynical lips! Was it the something indescribable that suggested unscrupulousness? In repose it was not a reassuring face. The mouth was a little cruel, the jaw had an obstinate set, and there were fine lines of irritability round the keen eyes. Only when he smiled was there real charm, and even then it depended on the measure of his wish to please; though, because his smile was rare, it was invariably attractive.
Paddy watched him covertly, feeling interested. She realised that he had the look of a man who could not be thwarted with impunity. A man strong enough to be patient up to a certain point, and then capable of being unscrupulous rather than give in. She wished vaguely that he had been different, and at that moment, before she had time to lower her gaze, Lawrence looked up suddenly from his paper straight into her eyes.
There was no time for subterfuge, and a sudden flood of colour in her cheeks told its own tale.