CHAPTER VII.
IN THE CHURCHYARD.
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer to Beatrix quite suddenly one evening, when she and Kenrick were sitting round the fire in the snug dining-room, a little while before tea, ‘Cyril must certainly assist at your marriage.’
Happily for Beatrix, the lamp had not yet been brought in. There was only the changeful and uncertain firelight, which just at this moment left her face in shadow.
‘Well, yes,’ returned Kenrick. ‘I think Cyril ought to be invited. If he were not present it would look as if there were some quarrel between us. And we are very good friends, are we not, dear?’ he added, turning to his betrothed.
‘Yes,’ faltered Beatrix.
‘If he were not here people would talk,’ pursued Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘You see, Bridford is not more than thirty miles distant, and, as Kenrick’s first cousin and Mr. Dulcimer’s late curate, it would be only natural for Cyril to assist at the ceremony.’
‘I will write and ask him to-morrow,’ said Kenrick. ‘I ought to have thought of it before.’
‘He has been very ill,’ suggested Beatrix. ‘He may not be strong enough to travel.’
‘Thirty miles only, my dear. A mere nothing,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Besides, he has quite recovered—or, at any rate, he has gone back to his duty. Clement told me so a week ago.’