Carey laughed a little. “I think there’s a very decided you at the back of the kaleidoscope,” he said, rising as he spoke. “It colors all the little pieces of glass. I’m dining at Lady Vernon’s to-night,” he added, glancing at the clock. “Is it really half-past six.”
She gave him her hand. “Good-bye,” she said, looking frankly at him. She wondered vaguely why his appearance always suggested to her so much strength and reliability. He was rather gracefully than strongly built—far from being a physically powerful man; yet she had always thought that if she were ever in an accident—a fire, or a railway smash, for instance—she would prefer to obey Carey’s directions to any man’s she knew. Something told her he would be absolutely calm and self-possessed.
He held her hand a moment in his firm clasp.
“You mustn’t work too hard,” he said, looking down at her; “but I’m glad you’re working.”
Ten minutes later Helen came in, followed by Miss Mansfield.
“Bid! all alone? How long have you been in?” Helen said, crossing the room towards Bridget’s chair.
She knelt down before the fire, and, pulling off her gloves, held her hands to the blaze.
“The silk matches to perfection!” Miss Mansfield announced triumphantly. “Helen, you’ll get chilblains. I’m going straight upstairs to change my dress before I sit down.”
Helen laid one hand caressingly on her friend’s lap.