"Well," said Jock, in an odd apologetic voice, "you see the old beggar had got into a pig-headed sort of pet last year. He said he would cut me if I left the service, and so he felt bound to be as good as his word; but he seems to have felt lost without us, and to have been looking out for a chance of meeting. He was horribly humiliated by the Friar looking over his head last week."

"Very well. If he chooses to call, here we are."

"Yes, and don't put on your cold sh.e.l.l, mother mine. After all, Evelyn is Evelyn. There are wiser fellows, but I shall never warm to any one again like him. Why, he was the first fellow who came into my room at Eton! I am to meet him to-morrow after the lecture. May I bring him home?"

"If he likes. His mother's son must have a welcome."

She could not feel cordial, and she so much expected that the young gentleman might be seized with a fresh fit of exclusive disdain, that she would not mention the possibility, and it was an amazement to all save herself when Jock appeared with the familiar figure in his wake.

Guardsman as he was, Cecil had the grace to look bashful, not to say shamefaced, and more so at Mrs. Brownlow's kindly reception, than at Barbara's freezing dignity. The young lady was hotly resentful on Jock's behalf, and showed it by a stiff courtesy, elevated eyebrows, and the merest tips of her fingers.

Allen took it easily. He had been too much occupied with his own troubles to have entered into all the complications with the Evelyn family; and though he had never greatly cared for them, and had viewed Cecil chiefly as an obnoxious boy, he was, in his mournful way, gratified by any reminder of his former surroundings. So without malice prepense he stung poor Cecil by observing that it was long since they had met; but no one could be expected to find the way to the other end of nowhere. Cecil blushed and stammered something about Hounslow, but Allen, who prided himself on being the conversational man of the world, carried off the talk into safe channels.

As Cecil was handing Mrs. Brownlow down to the dining-room, wicked Barbara whispered to her cousin John--

"We've such a nice vulgar dinner. It couldn't have been better if I'd known it!"

John, whose wrath had evaporated in his "cut," shook his head at her, but partook of her diversion at her brother's resignation at sight of a large dish of boiled beef, with a suet pudding opposite to it, Allen was too well bred to apologise, but he carved in the dainty and delicate style befitting the single slice of meat interspersed between countless entrees.

Barbara began to relent as soon as Cecil, after making four mouthfuls of Allen's help, sent his plate with a request for something more substantial. And before the meal was over, his evident sense of bien-etre and happiness had won back her kindness; she remembered that he was Sydney's brother, and took no more trouble to show her indignation.

Thenceforth, Cecil was as much as ever Jock's friend, and a frequenter of the family, finding that the loss of their wealth and place in the great world made wonderfully little difference to them, and rather enhanced the pleasant freedom and life of their house. The rest of the family were seen once or twice, when pa.s.sing through London, but only in calls, which, as Babie said, were as good as nothing, except, as she forgot to add, that they broke through the constraint on her correspondence with Sydney.

CHAPTER x.x.xV. THE PHANTOM BLACKc.o.c.k OF KILNAUGHT.

And we alike must shun regard From painter, player, sportsman, bard, Wasp, blue-bottle, or b.u.t.terfly, Insects that swim in fashion's sky.

Scott.

"At home? Then take these. There's a lot more. I'll run up," said Cecil Evelyn one October evening nearly two years later, as he thrust into the arms of the parlour-maid a whole bouquet of game, while his servant extracted a hamper from his cab, and he himself dashed up stairs with a great basket of hot-house flowers.

But in the drawing-room he stood aghast, glancing round in the firelit dusk to ascertain that he had not mistaken the number, for though the maid at the door had a well-known face, and though tables, chairs, and pictures were familiar, the two occupants of the room were utter strangers, and at least as much startled as himself.

A little pale child was hurriedly put down from the lap of a tall maiden who rose from a low chair by the fire, and stood uncertain.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I came to see Mrs. Brownlow."

"My aunt. She will be here in a moment. Will you run and call her, Lina?"

"You may tell her Cecil Evelyn is here," said he; "but there is no hurry," he added, seeing that the child clung to her protector, too shy even to move. "You are John Brownlow's little sister, eh?" he added, bending towards her; but as she crept round in terror, still clinging, he addressed the elder one: "I am so glad; I thought I had rushed into a strange house, and should have to beat a retreat."

The young lady gave a little shy laugh which made her sweet oval glowing face and soft brown eyes light up charmingly, and there was a fresh graceful roundness of outline about her tall slender figure, as she stood holding the shy child, which made her a wondrously pleasant sight.

"Are you staying here?" he asked.

"Yes; we came for advice for my little sister, who is not strong."

"I'm so glad. I mean I hope there is only enough amiss to make you stay a long time. Were you ever in town before?"

"Only for a few hours on our way to school."

Here a voice reached them--

"Fee, fa, fum, I smell the breath of geranium."

And through the back drawing-room door came Babie, in walking attire, declaiming--

"'Tis Cecil, by the jingling steel, 'Tis Cecil, by the pawing bay, 'Tis Cecil, by the tall two-wheel, 'Tis Cecil, by the fragrant spray."

"O Cecil, how lovely! Oh, the maiden-hair. You've been making acquaintance with Essie and Lina?"

"I did not know you were out, Babie," said Essie. "Was my aunt with you?"

"Yes. We just ran over to see Mrs. Lucas, and as we were coming home, a poor woman besought us to buy two toasting-forks and a mousetrap, by way of ornament to brandish in the streets. She looked so frightfully wretched, that mother let her follow, and is having it out with her at the door. So you are from Fordham, Cecil; I see and I smell. How are they?"

"Duke is rather brisk. I actually got him out shooting yesterday, but he didn't half like it, and was thankful when I let him go home again. See, Sydney said I was to tell you that pa.s.sion-flower came from the plant she brought from Algiers."

"The beauty! It must go into Mrs. Evelyn's Venice gla.s.s," said Babie, bustling about to collect her vases.

Lina, with a cry of delight, clutched at a spray of b.u.t.terfly-like mauve and white orchids, in spite of her sister's gentle "No, no, Lina, you must not touch."

Babie offered some China asters in its stead, Cecil muttered "Let her have it;" but Esther was firm in making her relinquish it, and when she began to cry, led her away with pretty tender gestures of mingled comfort and reproof.

"Poor little thing," said Babie, "she is sadly fretful. n.o.body but Essie can manage her."

"I should think not!" said Cecil, looking after the vision, as if he did not know what he was saying. "You never told me you had any one like _that_ in the family?"

"O yes; there are two of them, as much alike as two peas."

"What! the Monk's sisters?"

"To be sure. They are a comely family; all but poor little Lina."

"Will they be long here?"

"That depends. That poor little mite is the youngest but one, and the nurse likes boys best. So she peaked and pined, and was bullied by Edmund above and Harry below, and was always in trouble. n.o.body but Johnny and Essie ever had a good word for her. This autumn it came to a crisis. You know we had a great meeting of the two families at Walmer, and there, the shock of bathing nearly took out of her all the little life there was. I believe she would have gone into fits if mother had not heard her screams, and dashed on the nurse like a vindictive mermaid, and then made uncle Robert believe her. My aunt trusts the nurse, you must know, and lets her ride rough-shod over every one in the nursery. The poor little thing was always whining and fretting whenever she was not in Essie's arms or the Monk's, till the Monk declared she had a spine, and he and mother gave uncle and aunt no peace till they brought her here for advice, and sure enough her poor little spine is all wrong, and will never be good for anything without a regular course of watching and treatment. So we have her here with Essie to look after her for as long as Sir Edward Fane wants to keep her under him, and you can't think what a nice little mortal she turns out to be now she is rescued from nurse and those little ruffians of brothers."

"That's first-rate," remarked Cecil.

"The eucharis and maiden-hair, is it not? I must keep some sprays for our hairs to-night."