“Oh! yes,” said Geneviève, “I would not like to miss my morning walk. It is the pleasantest hour of the day.”
“Yes, in summer especially,” said Mr. Fawcett carelessly. “It is a pity Cicely can never get out in the morning. We might have some capital walks if she could come too.”
Geneviève did not answer at once, and when she did so, her tone sounded constrained.
“My cousin can never leave Colonel Methvyn in the morning,” she said stiffly. “If you would rather that she should be with us, of course I can ask her to come in the afternoon, and not come out any more in the morning. But I thought,” she stopped, and her voice seemed as if she were going to cry.
“You thought? What did you think?” he asked.
“I thought you were so kind, and I am so strange here,” she began hesitatingly. “You said you would advise me how to please my English friends, and that I might confide to you my difficulties.”
She raised her great brown eyes, already dewy with tears, to his. There had been a slight frown of impatience and annoyance on his face, but as he looked at her, it melted away.
“You silly child,” he exclaimed with a smile, “What has my wishing that poor Cicely could have a walk too, to do with it? Have you some new trouble on your mind? Do you want to trot off to Greybridge with another letter?”
“Oh! no,” said Geneviève, smiling again. “Oh! no, I have a letter from home to-day. Maman is very good, very good and kind. She has done what I asked her.”
“Then you should be quite happy and bright this morning,” said Trevor. “But I don’t think you are. What makes you look so pale?”