He could hear Sir William gasp a little as he laid a quick warm hand on hers that held the cane. She looked at him gravely, sadly, and then said:
“I will take your arm, if you please.”
He took the cane, and she put a hand towards him. He ran his strong arm around her waist with a little humouring laugh, her hand rested on his shoulder, and he timed his step to hers. Sir William was in an eddy of wonder—a strong head was “mazed.” He had looked for a different reception of this uncommon kinsman. How quickly had the new-comer conquered himself! And yet he had a slight strangeness of accent—not American, but something which seemed unusual. He did not reckon with a voice which, under cover of easy deliberation, had a convincing quality; with a manner of old-fashioned courtesy and stateliness. As Mrs. Gasgoyne had said to the rector, whose eyes had followed Gaston everywhere in the drawing-room:
“My dear archdeacon, where did he get it? Why, he has lived most of his life with savages!”
“Vandyke might have painted the man,” Lord Dargan had added.
“Vandyke did paint him,” had put in Delia Gasgoyne from behind her mother.
“How do you mean, Delia?” Mrs. Gasgoyne had added, looking curiously at her.
“His picture hangs in the dining-room.”
Then the picture had been discussed, and the girl’s eyes had followed Gaston—followed him until he had caught their glance. Without an introduction, he had come and dropped into conversation with her, till her mother cleverly interrupted.
Inside the library Lady Belward was comfortably placed, and looking up at Gaston, said: