"But—Rupert—I can't understand. Are you really so pleased to have found Christina?"
Rupert looked at her with a sudden confusion in his glance.
"Did I speak my thoughts aloud?" he said; "look here, Cicely, I am afraid I was not thinking of Miss Moore at that moment, though I am glad, very glad, to hear she is safe. And she is in such good hands, too," he added softly, the light in his eyes making Cicely realise all at once that there was a Rupert she had never known, besides the Rupert who had always been so steadfast a rock upon which to lean.
"It isn't fair to have said so much, and not to say more," he added quickly. "This lady who telegraphs—Margaret Stanforth—is—a friend of mine, a most noble and dear friend. I—had lost sight of her, and—I am glad to know where she is." Although the words were bald to the point of coldness, Cicely saw that the usually self-controlled man was deeply stirred by an emotion that almost overmastered him, and she tactfully refrained from directly answering his words, saying only—
"I am very glad Christina is in such good hands. I must telegraph this message on to Cousin Arthur at once. It is evidently most important."
"Evidently," Rupert replied absently, but he roused himself to re-write the telegram for Cicely; and, only when it had been despatched, did he turn to her and say—
"I wonder whether it would be wrong of me to take advantage of the information this telegram has given me; whether I might go to Graystone, too?"
"But, you see, there is no actual address on the message," Cicely answered, her quicker woman's wit having discovered the omission. "Graystone post office is mentioned, but it is obvious that for some reason the lady's own address has been left out. I—don't feel that I can give any advice when I know none of the circumstances, but—it seems like taking an unfair advantage to—to act on this telegram, which you are not supposed to have seen at all."
"And some fools in this world declare a woman has no sense of honour," Rupert exclaimed with a short laugh. "You can give me points about honour, that's certain. Of course, you are right," he laughed again, a rueful, rather bitter little laugh. "I can't go and hunt her out on the strength of a telegram I was never meant to see. But, my God! it is hard to keep away." He turned from Cicely, and, putting his arms upon the mantelpiece, leant his head upon them for a moment—only for a moment—then he straightened himself, and said quietly—
"After all, I have got to forget this telegram, ignore it, and make myself feel that things are 'as they were.'"