"Yes—" Mrs. Hammerton turned and looked at the girl again. "Oh!" she said. "I've heard Cary Clydesdale speak of you, haven't I?"
Jacqueline made a slight, very slight, but instinctive movement away from the old lady, on whom nothing that happened was lost.
"Mr. Clydesdale," said Mrs. Hammerton, "told several people where I was present that you knew more about antiquities in art than anybody else in New York since your father died. That's what he said about you."
Jacqueline said: "Mr. Clydesdale has been very kind to me."
"Kindness to people is also a Clydesdale tradition—isn't it, James?" said the old lady. "How kind Elena has always been to you!"
The covert impudence of Aunt Hannah, and her innocent countenance, had no significance for Jacqueline—would have had no meaning at all except for the dark flush of anger that mounted so suddenly to Desboro's forehead.
He said steadily: "The Clydesdales are very old friends, and are naturally kind. Why you don't like them I never understood."
"Perhaps you can understand why one of them doesn't like me, James."
"Oh! I can understand why many people are not crazy about you, Aunt Hannah," he said, composedly.
"Which is going some," said the old lady, with a brisk and unabashed employment of the vernacular. Then, turning to Jacqueline: "Are you going to give this young man some tea, my child? He requires a tonic."