"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't tell Cicely, Emmeline."
But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't always want to be gadding about."
Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily was over. In the afternoon—it was on Sunday—she went for a walk with her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs. Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did so.
"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said.
"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am."
"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself."
"What do you do, as it is?"
"I read a little, and try to paint, and——"
"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,—that's the secret of life. Give yourself some trouble."
He gave her more advice as they walked and talked together, and she listened to him submissively, and became interested in what he said to her.