“Well, if you’re not too tired, or ill, or anything, and can’t think of anything else to do, come along,” she said.
Mrs. Copeland called to Nan that it was time to go. They had come in on the interurban, but Eaton announced his intention of taking them home in the Pembroke car.
“There’s no use of my living in all this borrowed splendor unless I use it. Jerry, please keep the fire burning till I get back.”
Nan’s smile as she gave him her hand conveyed an apology for her harshness and sent his spirits soaring.
“I hope,” remarked Mrs. Torrington, as they heard the car leave the door, “that you know how fond my brother is of you. You’ve been a great resource to him; he’s mentioned you often in his letters. You know Cecil and I are very close, unusually so; and it breaks my heart to see him—” She waved her hand with a gesture that expressed the futility of explanations.
She was taking him for granted as her brother’s friend, not a mere beneficiary of his big-heartedness. He was aware of something spacious in her nature; she would brush little things away with a sweep of her eloquent hands. A wonderful woman was John Cecil’s sister. She was addressing him as though he were a gentleman, a man of her own world, instead of the miserable ingrate he knew himself to be.
“She’s lovely, quite adorable,” Mrs. Torrington continued, as though speaking of matters they had often discussed before. “I’ll say quite frankly that I’d been afraid to meet her after what he had written.”
Jerry sat silent, wondering. Nan had left him mystified. He did not know what Eaton’s sister was talking about unless it was his love for Nan.
“I shall be leaving in a few days; my husband’s business calls him to China. I want you to keep an eye on Cecil; don’t let him be alone too much,” she went on. “A man with a sorrow like that in his heart oughtn’t to be alone. I came here on purpose to see just how the land lay; I suppose you understand that.”
He muttered incoherently, touched by her assumption of his sympathy, her direct, intimate appeal.