“‘Some people’ is being spoilt now, among you all,” answered Mrs. Methvyn.
Cicely laughed and blushed. “Suppose we change the subject,” she said, “I am growing quite hot and nervous. I wonder how Geneviève is getting on, by the bye,” she added suddenly.
“Yes,” said her mother, “we shall be hearing from her to-morrow morning.”
“Has Miss Casalis gone to any distance?” inquired Mr. Guildford. “Is she to be long away?”
“A few weeks, not longer,” said Mrs. Methvyn, she has gone to the sea side—to the Isle of Wight—with the Fawcetts.”
“Oh! indeed,” said Mr. Guildford. “You must miss Miss Casalis a good deal,” he added to Cicely; “at least, I should think she would be missed.”
His tone was perfectly unconstrained at the beginning of the speech, but something in the expression of Cicely’s eyes as she turned to him, caused him to utter the last two or three words confusedly and somewhat incoherently. Miss Methvyn regarded him coolly till he left off speaking, and Mr. Guildford became aware that even blue eyes can be unpleasantly critical.
“What is she thinking of?” he said to himself.
Quoth Cicely calmly, “Do you mean because she is so pretty?”
“Not only that,” replied the young man, a dash of half-defined contradiction lending weight to his words. “Miss Casalis is much more than pretty. She is perfectly charming.”