Cyprian, with half-closed eyes which did not wish to see, was wondering whether he had understood.
She had conjured up dark visions the like of which had rarely crossed his horizon. He was inclined, like many self-sheltered individuals, to blink at the most sinister of Life's shadows, as if by so doing he could blink them out of existence as easily as out of his thoughts.
His inarticulate prayer: "Et ne nos indue as in tentationem!" A wise one with reference to the safety of his individual soul but hardly conducive of expansive sympathy to others.
The horror he experienced in hearing this child, a score of years younger than himself, approaching for commonplace—as indeed they might be elsewhere in the world, for all he cared—issues which, until now, he had always succeeded in pushing far from his own sphere of action, hindered him from pressing her further.
* * * * * *
He might never have realized the immensities at stake for her, but that Chance interfered to drive his newly-acquired knowledge home.
At that moment Jardine was seen to be coming across the lawn, a silver salver in his hand.
Cyprian aroused Ferlie in time. When the old butler stood before them, with the telegram, she was presentably calm.
"Mrs. Minchin sent me out with it, your ladyship; it was addressed to her. His lordship wishes her to inform you that he is arriving to-night and would like one of the cars to meet the 8.15." Mrs. Minchin was the housekeeper.
Ferlie took the yellow envelope from the tray and, as she did so, Cyprian wondered whether it were only in his imagination that a look passed between mistress and man, electric with mutual warning.