His last few words were haughty enough; they ill accorded with the anxiety, quite unowned to himself, with which he waited for her reply. She did not notice his disclaimer of curiosity, she was too selfishly startled by the suggestion which her quick wits had at once seized the full meaning of.
“You would say that my cousin Cicely is perhaps the fiançée of Mr. Fawcett?” she exclaimed, and though Mr. Guildford smiled in assent, he recoiled a little from her distinct expression of his meaning. “But, oh! no,” she went on. “It is not so, I assure you. They are brother and sister, voilà tout!”
She spoke lightly, but a slight cloud had nevertheless risen on her horizon; a cloud whose presence she resolutely ignored, but which to her took the brightness out of the sunshine for the rest of the day. But she had spoken confidently, and her inward misgiving was unsuspected by her companion. And to him the sunshine suddenly increased tenfold in brilliance and beauty, the birds’ songs trilled more joyously than before, the whole world seemed
“to lift its glad heart to the skies.”
Geneviève came in for her share in this generally happy state of things. She was somewhat pale and pensive, but had quite recovered her equilibrium, and before they rejoined the others she said something in her pretty, gentle way, of thanks to Mr. Guildford for his kindness and appreciation of his advice.
“Then you are not offended with me you are quite sure you are not?” he inquired.
“Offended!” Geneviève repeated. “Oh! no, no. I was afraid I had done more wrong than I knew. It is all strange here. I fear to do wrong. I thank you very much, Mr. Guildford.”
So the interview which had threatened to be stormy ended most amicably, and Edmond owned to himself that it would not be to be wondered at if Mr. Fawcett did fall in love with the pretty little creature.
They found the rest of the climbers established on the little plateau at the top of the rock, admiring, or fancying they admired, the really beautiful view. The absence of Mr. Guildford and Miss Casalis had not been unobserved, and more than one pair of eyes were sharp enough to detect in Geneviève’s face and manner the traces of recent agitation. She looked so pale and subdued that Cicely felt anxious about her, but, with the quick instinct of shielding her from disagreeable observation, did her utmost to divert the Misses Ketterings’ attention. Mr. Guildford, whose spirits appeared to have risen as incomprehensibly as Geneviève’s had sunk, seemed instinctively to understand Miss Methvyn’s wishes and did his best to help her; and so, in his own way, did Mr. Hayle, but Trevor stalked about gloomy and dissatisfied, was barely civil to Mr. Guildford and ignored poor Miss Fanny Kettering altogether.
It was so unusual for him to be out of temper that it distressed Cicely, though she attached no great importance to the passing cloud. She watched for an opportunity of dispelling it.