To this Cicely replied with an emphatic “Never!” as Mrs. Rockram appeared with the toast.
III
Two or three days slipped by without incident. What Cicely had predicted with such assurance came to pass. Lady Selina accepted the thwackings of Fate in silence. She remained consistently “nice” to her daughter. But she refused peremptorily the help that Arthur Wilverley offered within twenty-four hours of his dismissal. Before the week was out the usual announcement appeared in the columns of the Morning Post.
Upon the Monday following Cicely heard at breakfast that Mary Farleigh was sick abed and dying. Stimson told the tale.
“Dying?” repeated Lady Selina. “Did you say ‘dying,’ Stimson?”
“The word was used, my lady, by Annie, at ten o’clock last night. She had been in the village, her Sunday out, my lady.”
“I shall go down at once,” said Cicely.
“I will follow,” added Lady Selina. “Probably Annie is exaggerating. Mr. Grimshaw thought that Isaac Burble was dying. My people, I am glad to think, do not die easily.”
“What is the matter, Stimson?” asked Cicely.
Stimson, treading delicately, murmured: