“I am very sorry that I misunderstood you, sir.”
With these heartening words he left the Farleigh cottage and walked more briskly to the Vicarage.
Cicely, you may be sure, contrived to see him alone for a minute. From her manner he could divine nothing of her feelings, because they met in the small hall within reach of curious eyes and ears. He fancied that her hand lay cold in his. And her expression was troubled.
“Your mother has passed a bad night?”
“Mother slept soundly, thanks to your draught. She’s up; in the drawing-room. She insists on going to London at once. We are likely to stay there for several months.”
“I see.”
“But do you see? I can’t.” Her voice was almost piteous. “Perhaps it’s for the best. I don’t know. And she talks of sending the family solicitor down here to deal with Snitterfield and Gridley. But he’s an old fossil. They’ll twist him round their fingers. Can’t you coax her into staying here?”
“I am not very sanguine of succeeding where you have failed.”
He followed her into the drawing-room, where Lady Selina was enthroned in a large chair, with energy exuding from her. Grimshaw did the little that was necessary. He had to admit that the burn was not serious. Cicely could attend to it. Lady Selina said briskly:
“I want to talk to you, Mr. Grimshaw. Please sit down. Cicely, my dear, you needn’t go. You are vitally concerned in what I have to say.”