Bessie glanced at him. Richard Sefton was certainly not handsome; his features were rather heavily molded; he had a reddish mustache that hid his mouth, and closely cropped hair of the same color. His evening dress set rather awkwardly on him, and he had looked far better in his tweed coat and knickerbockers. Bessie was obliged to confess that Edna had been right in her description; there was something clownish about his appearance, and yet he looked a gentleman.
“Have you nothing to tell us, Richard?” asked Mrs. Sefton sharply, when the silence had lasted long enough.
“Nothing that will interest you,” he replied, rather gloomily; and Bessie noticed that his voice was not unpleasant. “I have been with Malcolmson all the afternoon.” And he looked steadily at Mrs. Sefton as he spoke.
A slight flush crossed her face, but she evidently did not trust herself to answer.
“I know our opinions differ about him,” he continued, as though forcing himself to speak; “but for my part I think him a clear-headed, reliable fellow. He has done my business well, and has relieved me of a great deal of responsibility.”
“I hope you will not have cause to repent your rashness, Richard,” was the severe answer; but Edna, who was watching her mother’s countenance with some anxiety, interfered in an airy fashion:
“Oh, pray don’t begin to talk business, Richard, or you will make mamma’s head ache. You know she can’t bear to hear Malcolmson’s name mentioned. All this is not very amusing for Miss Lambert. Can’t you find something interesting to suit a young lady?”
But if Edna hoped to pose as a peacemaker, she failed signally, for a sullen look came to her brother’s face, and, with the exception of a slight attention to his guest’s wants, and a few remarks about her journey and the weather, Richard made no further attempt to be agreeable.