Maryllia's eyes grew sad and wistful.
"I'm afraid so—I don't know—we shall see!"—she replied slowly— "Something will have to be settled one way or another—pleasantly or unpleasantly."
Cicely's black brows almost met across her nose in a meditative frown.
"What a shame it is that you can't be left in peace, Maryllia!"—she exclaimed—"And all because of your aunt's horrible money! Why doesn't Roxmouth marry Mrs. Fred?"
"I wish he would!" said Maryllia, heartily, and then she began to laugh. "Then it would be a case of 'Oh my prophetic soul! mine uncle!' And I should be able to say: 'My aunt is a Duchess.' Imagine the pride and glory of it!"
Cicely joined in her laughter.
"It WOULD be funny!" she said—"But whatever happens, I do hope
Roxmouth isn't going to drive us away from the Manor this summer.
You won't let him, will you?"
Maryllia hesitated a moment.
"It will depend on circumstances," she said, at last—"If he persists in staying at Badsworth, I must leave the neighbourhood. There's no help for it. It would only be for a short time, of course—and it seems hard, when I have only just come home, as it were,—but there,—never mind, Cicely! We'll treat it as a game of hare and hounds,—and we'll baffle the hounds somehow!"
Cicely gave a comic gesture of resignation to the inevitable.