Cicely’s face grew grave, but she said nothing
“Trevor was here to-day, you know, Cicely,” her mother went on; “he was a long time with your father. You can guess what they were talking about.”
Cicely sat down on the floor at her mother’s feet and laid her head upon Mrs. Methvyn’s knee.
“Mamma,” she said, “I thought it was fixed that nothing more should be said about it just yet. Mamma, I cannot leave you yet.”
“But my child, it must come, and when ever it comes it will seem as bad.”
“No, not if Amiel were home again. If she were here, I should not mind leaving you half so much,” said Cicely. “I don’t understand it, mother. Long ago—when it was first spoken of—it was always taken for granted that I should stay with you till Amiel came home. What has made any change? Is it Trevor’s doing?”
Mrs. Methvyn hesitated. “Trevor has always hoped things might hasten the marriage,” she said, “but—I don’t think he felt at liberty to say much about hastening it. It is your father who seems to wish it so much, and of course Trevor is delighted to have him on his side. And the Fawcetts wish it too.”
“But why does papa wish it so much? It is very unnatural,” said Cicely with a tinge of bitterness.
“Don’t say that, dear,” remonstrated her mother. “Your father only wishes it because he dreads the possibility of your being left without a protector. He has a very high opinion of Sir Thomas. As your father-in-law, your interests would be even more to him than now.”
Cicely remained silent for a minute or two. Then she said consideringly, “I suppose it is natural that papa should wish to see me married, but do you know, mother, there are times when I wish things had been left to take their chance. Even if I were left to “fend for myself,” as old Elspeth used to say, I should get on very well, I believe. I should not dread having to fight my way, mother. I should like to know something of the other side of life. I feel sometimes as if there was a sort of energy in me which will never need to be used.”