For once in her life Mrs. Corklemore was deprived of all presence of mind, ghostly horror being added to bodily fear of Eoa. She fain would have fled, but her limbs gave way, and she fell back into a soft French chair, and covered her face with both hands. Then Eoa, looking tall and delicate in her simple mourning dress, walked up to her very quietly, leading Cradock as if she were proud of him.
“I have taken the liberty, Mrs. Corklemore, of bringing my cousin Cradock to see you, because it may save trouble.”
“I trust you will forgive,” said Cradock, “our very sudden invasion. We are come upon a matter of business, to save unpleasant exposures and disgrace to our distant relatives.”
“Oh,” gasped poor Mrs. Corklemore, “you are alive, then, after all? It was proved that you had lost your life upon the coast of Africa.”
“Yes, but it has proved otherwise,” Cradock answered, bowing neatly.
“And it would have been so much better, under the sad, sad circumstances, for all people of good feeling, and all interested in the family.”
“For the latter, perhaps it would, madam; but not so clearly for the former. I am here to protect my father from all machinations.”
“Leave her to me,” cried Eoa, slipping prettily in front of him, “I understand her best, because—because of my former vocation. And I think she knows what I am.”
“That I do,” answered Georgie, cleverly interposing first a small enamelled table; “not only an insolent, but an utterly reckless creature.”
“You may think so,” Eoa replied, with calm superiority; “but that only shows your piteous ignorance of the effects of discipline. I am now so sedate and tranquil a woman, that I do not hate, but scorn you.”