“The afternoon would be best, I think,” said Cicely with a little surprise and anxiety in her tone. “It isn’t about anything that will worry him, Trevor?” she added.
There was no time for Mr. Fawcett to reply, for just at this moment a turn in the path brought them up to Geneviève and Miss Fanny Kettering, who, having arrived at the foot of the Witch’s Ladder, were now staring about them in bewilderment as to which was the right way to go. Geneviève was laughing as the new-comers drew near, but when she saw that they were Cicely and Mr. Fawcett she grew suddenly silent. Cicely noticed it, but imagined her cousin’s change able humour to be simply the result of the little excitement of the day. Trevor noticed it, and set it down to some meddling fool or other who had been frightening the poor little soul again, and resolved to find out the reason of the tears and agitation of which her pretty face still bore traces.
“I wonder if we shall ever come here again,” said Cicely, suddenly, as they were all preparing to leave the copse, for the afternoon was well advanced by now, and Colonel Methvyn had already been wheeled away in his Bath chair. No one heard her but Geneviève and Mr. Guildford, who happened to be standing near.
Geneviève opened her eyes and stared at Cicely in surprise.
“Why should we not come here again?” she exclaimed.
“I don’t know,” said Cicely; “it was a stupid thing to say. It was just a feeling that came over me. Birthdays and anniversaries make one look backwards and forwards in a silly, childish way.”
“In a more advanced state of society, perhaps, we shall have got rid of them,” observed Mr. Guildford.
“Got rid of what?” inquired Mr. Fawcett, coming up to them laden with an armful of his mother’s shawls. His tone was friendly and good-natured, he evidently meant to please Cicely by behaving with more cordiality to the Sothernbay surgeon; and his cousin rewarded him with a smile as she answered,
“Of birthdays and festivals of all kinds. Mr. Guildford thinks that when the world gets wiser holidays will be discarded. We shall be too big for them,” she said.
“Nay, Miss Methvyn,” exclaimed Mr. Guildford, “you have twisted my meaning a little. I should be sorry to look forward to the world’s ever growing beyond holidays. What a dreadful place it would be!”