The cherub, suddenly awaking to the fact, dropped his eyeglass, and, plunging at the hand, seized it as a pike does a little fish, and shook it with enthusiasm.
Eva smiled again.
“Shall we go to lunch?” she said, sweetly: and they went to lunch, she sailing down in front of them with the grace of a swan.
At lunch itself the conversation flagged rather—that is, Mr. Plowden talked with all the facility of an extemporary preacher; the cherub gazed at this pale dark-eyed angel; and Eva, fully occupied with her own thoughts, contributed a great many appreciative smiles and a few random remarks. Just as they were, to her intense relief, nearing the conclusion of the meal, a messenger arrived to summon Mr. Plowden to christen a dying baby. He got up at once, for he was punctilious in the performance of his duties, and, making excuses to his guest, departed on his errand, thus forcing Eva to carry on the conversation.
“Have you been in Plymouth long, Mr. Jasper?” she asked.
The eyeglass dropped spasmodically.
“Plymouth? O dear, no; I only landed this morning.”
“Landed? Indeed! where from? I did not know that any boat was in except the Conway Castle.
“Well, I came by her, from the Zulu war, you know. I was invalided home for fever.”
The cherub suddenly became intensely interesting to Eva, for it had struck her that Ernest must have come from Africa.