"I think we can get a rise out of Stephen—if we work together, you and I."
"How?" She was watching him doubtfully. Again he felt that hint of repression, as though she stood upon her guard.
"I'll tell you about Roddy first—a scheme I have for his future. To take him right away from Stephen—kidnap him!" he laughed at her—"and give him a thorough training abroad. I thought of the Art schools at Rome. Let him have the best masters from the beginning. If he likes it he's in the right atmosphere. It's a wonderful place, to my mind, Rome ... It's not like a Public School, of course. At one time I used to think that ... everything! But now that I've knocked about a bit I believe that there's nothing half so good as travel for an Englishman—we're too insular by far!
"He's jolly clever—those sketches of his show he has talent—if not genius. I honestly think—with a proper chance—he'll make a name for himself one day."
"Do you?" She beamed whole-heartedly on the speaker, self-forgetful again. "I think it sounds too lovely!—If only——" she sighed—"it could be done. But Mother would never hear of it. Besides, if she did, we're not rich. Think of what it means, Peter. Why, the journeys alone, from here to Italy and back again for the holidays, would cost a perfect little fortune—let alone his other expenses."
"He needn't return to England at all—once he's there," said McTaggart quickly—"that is, not if you agree to the whole plan." His voice changed. A pleading note crept into it, his eyes watched her anxiously.
"He could come—for the holidays ... to us!"
There came a pause, silent, but full.
"Jill—little Jill—don't you understand? Don't you know what I want—what I'm trying to say?"
From the low chair where he sat he reached up and tried to capture the hands clasped round her knees. But, with a swift movement, she drew them away, her head high, her face proud.