He broke off as he heard a footstep, and seemed to move a little apart from the chair where Cicely was sitting.
The two young people greeted their visitor, Cicely in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible, but with a smile that seemed, he thought, to welcome him; Sir Malcolm with a tragic solemnity which no doubt was quite appropriate to a bereaved baronet. The appearance of a third party seemed, however, to afford him no particular gratification, and after exchanging a sentence or two, he begged, in a very serious tone, to be excused, and retired, walking softly and mournfully. Ned noticed then that his face was extraordinarily pale and his eye disturbed.
"I was afraid of disturbing you," said Ned. He was embarrassed, a rare condition with him, which, when it did afflict him, resulted in an impression of intimidating truculence.
Cicely seemed to shrink a little, and he resolved to leave instantly.
"Oh no!" she said shyly.
"I only wanted to say that if I could do anything for you—well, you've only to let me know."
"It's awfully kind of you," she murmured.
There was something so evidently sincere in this murmur that his embarrassment forthwith left him.
"Thank Heaven!" he said after his outspoken habit. "I was afraid I was putting my foot in it. But if you really don't mind my seeing you for a minute or two, I'd just like to say——"
He broke off abruptly, and she looked up at him questioningly.