But Robin, though he shook hands and half moved to go, still lingered.
“What is it, Robin? You’ve nothing on your mind, have you, my dear boy?” asked the elder brother, half anxiously. “You’re not quite like yourself, somehow.”
“I’m afraid of annoying you, Rex, that’s the fact of the matter,” said Mr Winchester, and his colour deepened a little. “But I can’t help telling you. I think Miss Wentworth should know, and I feel sure she doesn’t. She’s—”
And he hesitated, then repeated his former phrase, “she’s more of a woman than you think, Rex.”
It was now Major Winchester’s turn to hesitate: he did so from his utter and complete astonishment.
“My dear good boy,” he exclaimed at last, “you are too absurd. That little childish creature! Why, she looks upon me as a sort of father. She does, I can assure you.”
And he laughed, sincerely and without constraint.
But Robin did not give in. On the contrary, his grave face grew graver.
“I might have known you would take it so,” he said, half provoked and half admiringly. “I wish, Rex, you were just a little more—conceited; I don’t know what word to use. But I can quite believe it might have been as you say—all quite simple and natural, with a genuine innocent-minded girl such as she is, had you known her elsewhere; but here— There can be nothing simple and refined where Trixie and that odious Forsyth girl are. And Miss Wentworth rather stands up for Trixie.”
“I know she does, out of a kind of misplaced chivalry,” said Rex, speaking more seriously now. “I am afraid, though I have done what I could, that Trixie has got some influence over her. But I don’t see how she can make mischief in this case.”