He glanced from the lady to Valentine inquiringly, as much as to say:
"How have you been getting on?"
Valentine's expression was gay and reassuring.
"I have been entertaining your friend, Julian," he said. "But she has been almost inconsolable in your absence. She was standing up because I was just about to show her the pictures. But now you are here, we will have tea first instead. Ah, here is tea. Miss Bright, do come and sit by the fire, and put your feet on this stool. We will wait upon you."
Since the entrance of Julian, his manner had entirely changed. All the irony, all the mock politeness, had died out of it. He was now a kind and delicately courteous host, desirous of putting his guests upon good terms and gilding the passing hour with a definite happiness. Cuckoo Bright seemed struck completely dumb by the transformation. She took the chair he indicated, mechanically put her feet up on the stool he pushed forward, and with a rather trembling hand accepted a cup of tea.
"Do you take sugar?" Valentine said, bending over her with the sugar-basin.
"No, no," she said.
"Oh, but I thought you loved sweet things," Julian interposed. "Surely—"
"I won't have none to-day," she ejaculated, adding with an endeavour after gentility; "thank you, all the same," to Valentine.
He offered her some delicious cakes, but she was apparently petrified by the grandeur of her surroundings, or by some hidden sensation of shyness or of shame, and was refusing to eat anything, when Julian came to the rescue.