they hoped you would be called upon to fill the breach. They are cunning enough for that!"
Kathleen couldn't resist smiling suddenly, so that a dimple appeared at one corner of her mouth.
"I don't think there's much doubt that they're a couple of little villains," she murmured. "But I also think it would be a mistake to take their villainy too seriously, and to treat it as unchildlike. And one mustn't overlook
the fact that they have been deprived of a parent recently, and that it may take a little time for them to settle down in Portugal — a country quite unlike America."
"And England?" he suggested, watching her still. "You find our ways a little difficult to get used to?"
"I have had no time as yet to attempt any real adjustment, senhor," she replied.
"True," he agreed, and rose and once more moved towards her. He stood looking down at her very intently. "And if I accept the fact that it may take a little while — perhaps even a considerable while — for my nephews to become adjusted to this new way of life, are you willing to cope with them for as long as that difficult phase may last? Do you promise that my home will not be altogether wrecked, and my peace shattered, if I entrust these limbs of mischief to you, and expect you to turn them into something human?"
She stood up, her face flushing delicately.
"I will do my best, senhor, but I can't promise anything. That would be unwise."
"And although you look so young you are a very wise young woman?"
"I have learned to be cautious. But I do understand children, and I will do my best — that much I can promise you!"
"Excellent!" he exclaimed, and held out his hand. The colour deepened in her cheeks as she felt his fingers grasp hers, and to her surprise they were warm, and close, and somehow sustaining. She lifted her eyes a little shyly to his face, and the deep blueness of them seemed to hold his look captive. Then it grew mildly quizzical. "And I am forgiven for my summary treatment of you?"
"I am prepared to believe that you were feeling a little tried that morning."
"Perhaps." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Although tried seems a mild word. For a bachelor to have his way of life upset is a serious thing, you know."
It almost escaped her lips that he wouldn't always be a bachelor, and as if he read her mind with ease he observed:
"But I promise you my children will not behave as Jeronimo and Joseph behave! Not under any circumstances!"
She turned away, feeling suddenly and most peculiarly embarrassed. Then she turned back to him. "And I am forgiven for—for last night?"
"Forget it," he said. "I don't quite know why but when I found an empty bed in the Night Nursery I suspected at once that the recent occupant of it was with you. Somehow it seemed the logical conclusion."
The dry humour in his voice caused her to send a quick look up at him, and then once more she looked away. She bit her lip.
"Nevertheless, I'm very sorry that it happened. I promise that it won't occur again."
"If I were you I wouldn't make rash promises," he said. "Remember you have just told me you have learned to be cautious." Then he terminated the interview by walking to the door and holding it open for her. "I wish you luck in this new enterprise of yours, Miss O'Farrel. If at any time you feel that you need some support I shall be on hand if you care to appeal to me!"
As she walked up the stairs she asked herself, Would she ever dare to appeal to him? Her earliest impression of him had been that he was barely human, but now she wasn't so sure. Just now he had seemed surprisingly approachable, and her fingers still tingled from that vital clasp of her hand.
And she was prepared to admit that Peggy had been right about his charm. He had a good deal of charm when he smiled.
CHAPTER SIX
BUT the next few weeks were not easy, all the same. Charm in rare moments has a great deal of virtue if you are never brought into contact with the qualities that
Kathleen couldn't resist smiling suddenly, so that a dimple appeared at one corner of her mouth.
"I don't think there's much doubt that they're a couple of little villains," she murmured. "But I also think it would be a mistake to take their villainy too seriously, and to treat it as unchildlike. And one mustn't overlook
the fact that they have been deprived of a parent recently, and that it may take a little time for them to settle down in Portugal — a country quite unlike America."
"And England?" he suggested, watching her still. "You find our ways a little difficult to get used to?"
"I have had no time as yet to attempt any real adjustment, senhor," she replied.
"True," he agreed, and rose and once more moved towards her. He stood looking down at her very intently. "And if I accept the fact that it may take a little while — perhaps even a considerable while — for my nephews to become adjusted to this new way of life, are you willing to cope with them for as long as that difficult phase may last? Do you promise that my home will not be altogether wrecked, and my peace shattered, if I entrust these limbs of mischief to you, and expect you to turn them into something human?"
She stood up, her face flushing delicately.
"I will do my best, senhor, but I can't promise anything. That would be unwise."
"And although you look so young you are a very wise young woman?"
"I have learned to be cautious. But I do understand children, and I will do my best — that much I can promise you!"
"Excellent!" he exclaimed, and held out his hand. The colour deepened in her cheeks as she felt his fingers grasp hers, and to her surprise they were warm, and close, and somehow sustaining. She lifted her eyes a little shyly to his face, and the deep blueness of them seemed to hold his look captive. Then it grew mildly quizzical. "And I am forgiven for my summary treatment of you?"
"I am prepared to believe that you were feeling a little tried that morning."
"Perhaps." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Although tried seems a mild word. For a bachelor to have his way of life upset is a serious thing, you know."
It almost escaped her lips that he wouldn't always be a bachelor, and as if he read her mind with ease he observed:
"But I promise you my children will not behave as Jeronimo and Joseph behave! Not under any circumstances!"
She turned away, feeling suddenly and most peculiarly embarrassed. Then she turned back to him. "And I am forgiven for—for last night?"
"Forget it," he said. "I don't quite know why but when I found an empty bed in the Night Nursery I suspected at once that the recent occupant of it was with you. Somehow it seemed the logical conclusion."
The dry humour in his voice caused her to send a quick look up at him, and then once more she looked away. She bit her lip.
"Nevertheless, I'm very sorry that it happened. I promise that it won't occur again."
"If I were you I wouldn't make rash promises," he said. "Remember you have just told me you have learned to be cautious." Then he terminated the interview by walking to the door and holding it open for her. "I wish you luck in this new enterprise of yours, Miss O'Farrel. If at any time you feel that you need some support I shall be on hand if you care to appeal to me!"
As she walked up the stairs she asked herself, Would she ever dare to appeal to him? Her earliest impression of him had been that he was barely human, but now she wasn't so sure. Just now he had seemed surprisingly approachable, and her fingers still tingled from that vital clasp of her hand.
And she was prepared to admit that Peggy had been right about his charm. He had a good deal of charm when he smiled.
CHAPTER SIX
BUT the next few weeks were not easy, all the same. Charm in rare moments has a great deal of virtue if you are never brought into contact with the qualities that
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