Still Cicely seemed determinedly blind to the meaning of his remarks.
“I do hope papa will not be very tired,” she said. “Mr. Guildford thinks it would do him good to come out oftener, Trevor.”
“I dare say it would,” replied Mr. Fawcett rather indifferently. “I always thought Farmer an old woman. Still I very much prefer him to your new authority, Cicely.”
“Mr. Guildford is considered exceedingly clever,” said Cicely.
“I dare say he is. It is the man himself I object to; he is so uncommonly free and easy, and makes himself so much at home,” replied Mr. Fawcett, kicking away some loose pebbles on the rough path before him.
Miss Methvyn was silent. Trevor persisted.
“Don’t you agree with me?” he said. “I don’t care about his manner to Geneviève for one thing—he seems to think himself so completely on a par with all of us.”
“I don’t want to vex you, Trevor,” replied Cicely, “but I cannot say I agree with you in the least. I don’t think Mr. Guildford’s manner could be kinder and nicer than it is. He is a little abrupt perhaps, but that is often the case with men who spend their time in work instead of in play.”
Mr. Fawcett laughed, but his laugh was not genial or hearty.
“I had better not say anything more about him, I think,” he remarked carelessly. Then, as if he were quite above feeling annoyed by what Cicely had said, he changed the subject. “I want to see your father very much, Cicely,” he said. “What is his best time? I can come at any time you like to-morrow.”