“I am certain,” said Millicent, at length boldly attacking the question that was in all their minds, “that Sir John will be all right now. Of course, it is only natural that he should not like Jack to—to get engaged yet. Especially before, when it would have made a difference to him—in money, I mean. But now that Jack is independent—you know, auntie, that Jack is richer than Sir John—is it not nice?”
“Very,” answered Lady Cantourne, in a voice rather suggestive of humouring a child's admiration of a new toy; “very nice indeed.”
“And all so quickly!” pursued Millicent. “Only a few months—not two years, you know. Of course, at first, the time went horribly slow; but afterwards, when one got accustomed to it, life became tolerable. You did not expect me to sit and mope all day, did you, Jack?”
“No, of course not,” replied Jack; and quite suddenly, as in a flash, he saw his former self, and wondered vaguely whether he would get back to that self.
Lady Cantourne was rather thoughtful at that moment. She could not help coming back and back to Sir John.
“Of course,” she said to Jack, “we must let your father know at once. The news must not reach him from an outside source.”
Jack nodded.
“If it did,” he said, “I do not think the 'outside source' would get much satisfaction out of him.”
“Probably not; but I was not thinking of the 'outside source' or the outside effect. I was thinking of his feelings,” replied Lady Cantourne rather sharply. She had lately fallen into the habit of not sparing Millicent very much; and that young lady, bright and sweet and good-natured, had not failed to notice it. Indeed, she had spoken of it to several people—to partners at dances and others. She attributed it to approaching old age.
“I will write and tell him,” said Jack quietly.