"They must have been very stupid, then!"
"Old buffers generally are," he replied. "Some of the young chaps thought it first-rate, even though they were a little startled for the moment. Though why people should feel startled by anything so self-evident as my remarks beats me. Be hanged to them for silly idiots! Eh, Jean?"
His momentary expression of chagrin made way for a merry smile, which set his daughter smiling gaily back.
"If they disagree with you, father, they must be!" she laughed.
They sat silent for a few minutes, Jean watching the green fields and trees and gates and walls rush past to join the jagged fells behind them, her father watching her.
"It's awfully good of you taking me back with you," she said presently.
"If it's a treat for you, you deserve it," he answered affectionately; "and if it's not—well, anyhow, it's pleasant for me having your company."
"It is a treat for me, though I don't quite see what I've done to deserve it."
"You have stood by your father, my dear; and one good turn deserves another. I'd have been most infernally sick if I'd forgotten that dinner. It gave me the very chance of saying a word or two in season I'd been longing for. I only hope it will do the old fogies good."