Therefore, as Audrey was playing some of the most seductive music of that past master of the art, Chopin, and Lady Frances lay back in her chair with closed eyes and listened, Evelyn left the room. She knew where to find her uncle, and going down a corridor, opened the door of his smoking-room without knocking. He was seated by the fire smoking. A newspaper lay by his side; a pile of letters which had come by the evening post were waiting to be opened. When Evelyn quietly opened the door he looked round and said:
“Ah, it is you, Eve. Do you want anything, my dear?”
“May I speak to you for a minute or two, Uncle Edward?”
“Certainly, my dear Evelyn; come in. What is the matter, dear?”
“Oh, nothing much.”
Evelyn went and leant up against her uncle. She had never a scrap of fear of him, which was one reason why he liked her, and thought her far more tolerable than did his wife or Audrey. Even Audrey, who was his own child, held him in a certain awe; but Evelyn leant comfortably now against his side, and presently she took his arm of her own accord and passed it securely round her waist.
“Now, that is nice,” she said; “when I lean up against you I always remember that you are father’s brother.”
“I am glad that you should remember that fact, Evelyn.”
“You are pleased with me on the whole, aren’t you, Uncle Edward?” asked the little girl. Evelyn backed her head against his shoulder as she spoke, and looked into his face with her big and curious eyes.
“On the whole, yes.”