She gave him one glance which she meant for reproof; but when he saw her eyes, so loving and a little moist, he covered the short space between them with one movement, and was on his knees before her.
"Do you love me?" he whispered.
Her head bent over his, and she answered very faintly something like "Yes."
Mr. Walkingshaw entered his drawing-room.
For a moment there was a painful pause. Jean's face had turned a becoming shade of crimson, and the artist was on his feet. Naturally the woman spoke first.
"I—I didn't expect you back so soon, father."
"So I perceive," said Mr. Walkingshaw.
The young man turned to him with creditable composure.
"One can hardly judge of the effect in this light," said he.
Mr. Walkingshaw had heard of people becoming insane under the stress of a sudden shock, and he wondered uneasily whether this misfortune had befallen Lucas Vernon or himself. The artist perceived his success, and hope began to rise afresh. He cocked his head professionally on one side and examined the confounded girl.