With Indian
bow-strings in the mind, and fancied moonlight spies before the sight, a
scream was inevitable.
Whom should it be but Jan! Jan, of course. What other guest would be
likely to enter in that unceremonious fashion? Strictly speaking, Jan
was not a guest--at any rate, not an invited one.
"I had got a minute to spare this evening, so thought I'd come up and
have a look at you," proclaimed unfashionable Jan to the room, but
principally addressing Lionel and Sibylla.
And so Jan had come, and stood there without the least shame, in drab
trousers, and a loose, airy coat, shaking hands with Sir Rufus, shaking
hands with anybody who would shake hands with him. Sibylla looked
daggers at Jan, and Lionel cross. Not from the same cause. Sibylla's
displeasure was directed to Jan's style of evening costume; Lionel felt
vexed with him for alarming Lucy. But Lionel never very long retained
displeasure, and his sweet smile stole over his lips as he spoke.
"Jan, I shall be endorsing Lady Verner's request--that you come into a
house like a Christian--if you are to startle ladies in this fashion.
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