"I'm just come home," Jean said in self-defence. She had approached so near that Mme. Collier really had no excuse for not seeing her sooner, beyond abstraction of ideas. Jean had reached the end of the table, not creeping, but walking with her usual erect bearing and light footfall. There she had stopped, electrified by the words which reached her ears. She thought some dreadful calamity must be impending. "Come home! Yes. But why don't you show yourself properly? I hate creeping and listening ways." Jean grew stiff under the sense of injustice. Mr. Trevelyan's eyes travelled over her. "Did you mean to listen, Jean?" "No, father—" very low. "I have a great mind to put her to bed for it," declared Marie Collier. "Jean did not mean to listen!" Mr. Trevelyan was a strictly just man. He had never found Jean in untruth, and until he should do so he would trust her implicitly. "The door was not shut; and we might have seen her come in. How much did you hear?" This was to Jean. A lump in the child's throat almost prevented speech. She swallowed with difficulty, and said, "General Villiers is going to do something bad." "General Villiers is going to marry Evelyn Devereux. That is not 'something bad' in the sense you mean. Your aunt is sorry to hear it, because he is too old for such a young girl, and the thing is unsuitable. But remember, it is not your business. Unless by accident, you would not have heard it at present; and the matter must not go further. I trust to your honour." "She will go and talk to Cyril the first thing. I know what children are." Mr. Trevelyan looked searchingly into the troubled eyes of his little daughter. They met his, clear and resolute, though pained. "Can I depend on you, Jean?" "Yes, father." "It is not to be mentioned again, unless somebody speaks first to you. And then the less said the better. You will not repeat what you heard us say." "No!" A slight dry smile crept into the grim lines round Mr. Trevelyan's mouth. "Marie, you need not be afraid. That child is trustworthy." Jean's face changed. Any word of praise was rare in her little life. She hardly knew what to make of it. Mr. Trevelyan, watching still, did not quite know what to make of her. He knew well the Trevelyan half of Jean: but the sensitive loving Ingram half was commonly veiled from his sight: he scarcely recognised its existence. The sudden radiance of response in her eyes, and then the quiver of her lips, surprised him. He did not know what he had said to bring about such results. Before he could speak, Jean was gone. She felt a rush of tears coming, and fled wildly away to a retired corner of the garden, there to sob her little heart out, not knowing what made her cry. "Why, Jean!" Jem's voice startled her to her feet; and tears were checked by a mighty effort. To be found in such a condition was in Jean's opinion a dire disgrace. She stood bolt upright, herself again, though with wet cheeks. "Please don't tell," she begged.