Sir Arthur drew his brows together in a judicial way peculiar to him, and bearing no relation to the importance of the matter in hand.
"Very kind of you to think of such an arrangement, my dear Cicely," he began; "very kind, indeed. And it is true, as you say, that ordinary business cannot be transacted at Christmas-time. But—we are not here on quite ordinary business. I think I told you when I last saw you, that my unfortunate brother-in-law is giving us great uneasiness."
"Yes, you did mention it," Cicely answered, again racking her brain in vain to remember what constituted the misfortunes of the brother-in-law, "but I did not know——"
"Quite so, quite so," Sir Arthur interrupted, waving her words aside; "we do not discuss the subject frequently, because, as you are aware, it is one which is most repugnant to us. But, for my poor sister's sake, I feel bound to come forward now, greatly as I dislike being mixed up with such an affair. I belong to those who believe that the touch of pitch defiles."
Cicely wondered more and more who and what the recalcitrant brother-in-law could be, that the mention of him drew such strong expressions from Sir Arthur's lips, brought so stern a look to his face; but he did not allow her time to ask any questions, or make any comment on his speech, resuming with scarcely a pause—
"I am using what influence I possess, to have the whole matter hushed up, as far as is compatible with right and justice. The poor man himself is not likely to live long enough to be punished; and if scandal can be averted from our family, which for so many generations has been sans reproche, I shall feel rewarded for all my trouble."
Cicely reflected that it was quite useless to try and disentangle the meaning of Sir Arthur's mysterious and incomprehensible words; and, being by nature the least inquisitive of beings, she asked no further questions.
"But if all that you have to do leaves you free for two or three days at Christmas, please come to us," she said; "we shall be only a very small party. My brother Wilfred can't come, and I am afraid Rupert Mernside, my cousin, may not be with us this year; but my dear old governess, Miss Doubleday, always comes to us for Christmas, and Baba, Christina, and I are the gay and youthful elements. I like to make Christmas a very happy time for my girlie," she added, almost apologetically when she saw how, at her words, Sir Arthur's lips closed tightly. "You think it rather wrong to be young and gay, don't you?" she went on, a touch of defiance in her pretty voice; "but, you see, I am—anyhow—not at all old—and I want to keep myself as young as ever I can for Baba."
"I have no objection to youth, as such," Sir Arthur answered, with a lofty condescension that gave Cicely an overpowering wish to giggle feebly; "but I should have thought you, a widow, with so many cares, so many responsibilities, and above all with an immortal soul entrusted to your care, that you would have put childish things behind you, and taken up life with greater seriousness."
"Do you know," Cicely answered very softly, though her eyes shone, "John, my dear husband, told me he hoped I should always keep my young heart, and I hope I shall. I want to be young—as he liked me to be—when I meet him again. And I want to keep Baba always with her child soul, too," she went on, a sudden dreaminess in her glance. "John used to say that the Kingdom of Heaven was for the child-like, and the children. But I mustn't waste your time and Cousin Ellen's in argument," she exclaimed, with a brisk change of tone; "only promise to come to Bramwell for Christmas, and we will try to make you happy. And I am sure you will like my dear little Christina."