“Is it, little girl?” he asked.
He was sitting quite at the other end of the room and did not come near her, but something in his tone made Jacqueline halt, and brought the ever-ready blood into her cheeks. Freke, after a moment, rose and sauntered toward her. As he came up to her he took a stray lock of hair that had escaped, in curly perversity, from the comb; and, just as he stood with it in his fingers, the door opened and Simon Peter announced:
“Walk right in, Marse George. Mistis, she countin’ de tuckeys in de coop, but Miss Judy, she be ’long pres’n’y. Hi! Here Miss Jacky!”
Throckmorton walked in. His eye, which was as quick as a hawk’s, caught the whole thing in an instant, and a sort of jealousy sprang into life. Of course, he did not display the smallest symptom of it. He shook hands pleasantly with Jacqueline, and also with Freke, whom he had met several times. With his easy, worldly judgment, he by no means ranked Freke as the chief of sinners, but, without regarding him as a model citizen, found him extremely good company, which Freke certainly was. Jacqueline looked painfully embarrassed, but Freke’s coolness was simply indomitable. The two men made conversation naturally enough, while Jacqueline, awkwardly silent, sat and twisted the unlucky lock of hair in her fingers until a diversion was created by Judith’s entrance, with little Beverley clinging to her skirts. A faint, girlish blush came into Judith’s face when she met Throckmorton; and for his part he felt always the charm, the refinement, the sprightliness, more piquant because subdued, that exhaled like a perfume wherever Judith was. Beverley made for Throckmorton, and, before his mother could interpose a warning hand, was perched on the arm of Throckmorton’s chair, whence both of them defied her. Jacqueline made but one remark. She asked Throckmorton, timidly:
“How is young Mr. Throckmorton?”
At which the major scowled, but responded carelessly that Jack was all right, as far as he knew.
Young Mr. Throckmorton! and from those lovely lips!
Presently there was a grinding of wheels, and a commotion at the front door.
“Mrs. Sherrard, I know!” said Judith. “She always begins her salutations at the gate.”
Sounds were distinguishable.