When the carriage was announced, Theodora was upstairs, putting on her hat. Mr. Gilwyn came down the stairs and marched straight to the dining-room where Cicely, divested of her cap and encased in a gingham apron, was busy clearing the table. In his hand was a book, and his face had suddenly lost all its pomposity and grown genial and merry.
"I found this on the table in my room," he said without preface; "and it isn't a very common name."
As he spoke, he opened to the flyleaf and pointed to the two lines written there.
"Cicely Everard," it said; "with the love of Cousin Theodora."
"I've a daughter of my own," he added; and Theodora, when she came in search of her guest, found the guest and the maid laughing uproariously.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Oh, Cis!"
"Well?"
"Come down here."
"Can't. I'm busy."