“Now go and rest, dearest,” his lordship said. “I have a few letters I will write before I go out.”
And he was about to cross to the door when it suddenly opened, and little Enid in her white muslin dress danced into the room, rushing up to her mother’s outstretched arms.
Bracondale caught the child and, taking her up, kissed her fondly.
Then, when he set her down again, she rushed to Jean, and in her childish voice asked:
“Mother, I was so afraid this morning when I saw you talking to that nasty man!”
“Nasty man!” echoed Jean, her heart standing still.
“Yes, mother. I ran across from Miss Oliver and was coming to you, but when I got round the rock I saw—oh, I saw a nasty man raising his hands, and talking. And you were so frightened—and so was I. So I ran back again. He was a nasty, bad man.”
For a second a dead silence fell.
Then Jean, with a supreme effort, collected her thoughts and exercised all her self-control.