Richard, blushing guiltily, looked with some shyness at his cousin.
“How is Jilian?” he asked.
Lot’s face seized upon a most lugubrious expression. He shook his head, and looked with significant pathos at Richard.
“Poor wench, she is in a terrible way—”
“Lot, I am miserably distressed.”
“She begged me to make no quarrel in the matter; swore it was no fault of yours; wanted me to promise that I would not lose my temper.”
Richard listened, looking the embodiment of generous contrition. What an angel this sweet cousin of his was, to be sure! Of course Jilian had had little romances after she had come fresh from school. What girl had not? And had not he, Richard Jeffray, brought all this distress upon her?
“Lot,” he said, “I am not worthy to kiss your sister’s hand. Do you think that she will forgive me?”
Mr. Lancelot appeared profoundly serious, and glanced at his cousin under wrinkled brows.
“Jill has a deuced kind heart, Dick,” he said.