How grave Jessie looked when George met her eyes; they were not what a casual observer would call fine eyes, though they were well shaped and of a very clear blue colour, for they were neither flashing nor sparkling nor melting; but they had a steady light in them that one could depend on, and if they were well looked into they repaid the trouble. She looked older than when George had parted from her—no unpleasantly older—there were no lines on her cheek or brow or round the corners of her mouth, but her face looked calm and more thoughtful, and her movements were a little more deliberate.
George could get no opportunity of speaking to her for hours. Allan and his father were full of questions as to how matters were going on at Gundabook; Isabel laid hold of him to see her new pony; Jamie wanted to see if he could come up to George with the rifle after a year's hard practice, and kept him an hour before he was satisfied that George was still greatly his superior; but Jessie was shy and silent, and would give him no chance to speak to her. A chance observation of Isabel's about McCallum's visits called up the colour to her cheek, but George thought it was indignation and not consciousness—he
