Mrs. Blake made this speech with such a pretty air of assurance, such a conviction that there was something pardonable in her egotism, with such winning frankness, that Audrey forgave the thoughtless insinuation against poor overtasked Mollie. It was evident that Mrs. Blake idolised her eldest son; her eyes softened as she mentioned his name.
'Ah, there is his step!' she added hastily. 'No one walks in the same way as Cyril does; isn't it a light, springy tread? But,' checking herself with another laugh, 'I must really hold my tongue, or you will think me a very silly woman.'
'No; I like you all the better for it,' replied Audrey bluntly. She had no time to say more, for a gay whistle heralded the new-comer; and the next moment a young man vaulted lightly over the low window-sill.
He seemed a little taken aback at the sight of a stranger, shook hands rather gravely with Audrey, and then sat down silently beside his mother.
Audrey's first thought was that Mrs. Blake had not said a word too much. Cyril Blake was certainly a very striking-looking young man. 'He is like his mother,' she said to herself; 'he is as handsome in his way as she is in hers. There is something foreign in his complexion, and in those very dark eyes; it looks as though there were Spanish or Italian blood in their veins. She hardly looks old enough to be his mother. Father said he was two-and-twenty. What an interesting family they seem! I am sure I shall see a great deal of them.'
Cyril was a little silent at first. He was afflicted with the Englishman's mauvaise honte with strangers, and was a little young for his age, in spite of his cleverness. But Mrs. Blake was not disposed to leave him in quiet. She knew that he could talk fluently enough when his tongue was once loosened; so she proceeded to tell him of Audrey's neighbourly kindness, treating it with an airy grace; and, of course, Cyril responded with a brief compliment or two. She then drew him out by skilful questions on Rutherford and its inhabitants, to which Audrey duly replied.
'And you like the place, Miss Ross?'
'Oh, of course one likes the place where one lives,' she returned brightly. 'I was only a little girl when father came to Woodcote, so all my happiest associations are with Rutherford. I grumble sometimes because the town is so small and there are not enough human beings.'
'There are over three hundred boys, are there not?' asked Cyril, looking up quickly.
'Oh, boys! I was not thinking of them. Yes, there are more than three hundred. I delight in boys, but one wants men and women as well. We have too few types. There are the masters and the masters' wives, and the doctors and the vicar, and a curate or two, but that is all. A public school is nice, but its society is limited.'