“Keep you out of her fascinations, lad,” returned Janet in a tone of solemn meaning. “It is my first and best advice to you.”
“I will, Janet, when I find them growing dangerous.”
Janet said no more. There was that expression on her countenance which they well knew; telling of grievous dissatisfaction.
Rising earlier than his strength was as yet equal to, told upon George Godolphin: and by the middle of the day he felt so full of weariness and lassitude, that he was glad to throw himself on to the sofa in the large drawing-room, quiet and unoccupied then, wheeling the couch first of all with his feeble strength, close to the window, that he might be in the sunshine. Its warmth was grateful to him. He dropped asleep, and only woke considerably later, at the entrance of Cecil.
Cecil was dressed for the day, in a thin, flowing black dress, a jet necklace on her slender neck, jet bracelets on her fair arms. A fair flower was Cecilia Godolphin: none fairer within all the precincts of Prior’s Ash. She knelt down by George and kissed him.
“We have been in to glance at you two or three times, George. Margery has prepared something nice for you, and would have aroused you to take it, only she says sleep will do you as much good as food.”
“What’s the time?” asked George, too indolent to take his own watch from his pocket.
“Half-past three.”
“Nonsense!” cried George, partially starting up. “It can’t be so late as that.”
“It is, indeed. Janet has just driven off to the station. Don’t rise this minute: you are hot.”