“What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle gate?”
Christabel.
TREVOR called at Greystone the next day, and was closeted with Colonel Methvyn for some time. Cicely and her cousin were in the house when he came, but, considerably to their surprise, he went away without seeing them. Geneviève said nothing, but felt annoyed. Cicely grew uneasy and anxious, for at dinner it struck her that her mother looked grave and preoccupied; but she had no opportunity during the evening of inquiring if there was any cause for this, as Mrs. Methvyn went straight from the dining-room to her husband, leaving the two girls to their own devices.
“What shall we do, Geneviève,” said Cicely. “I fancy mother will stay in my father’s room this evening. Shall we go out a little? It is deliciously mild.”
“Is your father not well to-day?” asked Geneviève, without replying to her cousin’s proposal.
“Oh! yes. I mean, at least, he is just the same as usual,” answered Cicely. “He said this morning he felt a very little tired with yesterday, but he was in good spirits, and he seems to think the little change did him good.”
“Then what for did my aunt look so distraite—so sad at dinner?” asked Geneviève. She was standing listlessly by the window, but as she spoke she turned round with a certain sharpness which annoyed her cousin more than the question itself.
“If my mother is anxious or uneasy, I don’t think either you or I should notice it or make any remarks about it,” said Cicely coldly. She had hardly uttered the words before she wished she could recall them. “Geneviève meant no harm,” she reflected; “it is because I am uneasy too, that I am cross, but that is no excuse.”
She began to think how she could best soften the harshness of what she had said.
“Geneviève,” she was commencing, “I am sorry I said that; don’t think I meant it—” when her cousin interrupted her.