So—her father had sent for Hugh; had sent Stephen.
“Yes, Hugh,” Bransby said gently.
“Righto,” the boy replied. In several senses he was not “sensitive,” and nothing of his uncle’s strain, or of Helen’s, had reached him.
Bransby turned to his daughter. “Helen, will you leave us for a little while?”
“I’d rather stay, Daddy.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Helen met his gaze quietly, and sat down. She had been standing near the fire when her cousins came in.
Bransby sighed. But he saw it was useless to command her. She would not go.
Stephen had been looking at the books in the case. He turned sharply now and eyed them all intently. He was “sensitive,” and keenly so where Helen was concerned.
Hugh turned to Helen, smiling and happy: “I say, have you told him, then, Helen?”