“I thought you were angry about it—I almost thought you would say you would not go,” she exclaimed.
Cicely was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly,—“It is true I was surprised, and not pleased at the idea of it last night. But I think it was unreasonable of me, and I am sorry for having chilled your pleasure in it.”
“You are very good, Cicely,” said Geneviève. “I wish I were as good as you.”
She sighed. Cicely looked at her with some surprise.
“You are not to go off into a fit of low spirits, Geneviève,” she said, in a rallying tone. “I am not good when I am cross—the least I can do is to say I am sorry, isn’t it? But if you look miserable it will be like a reproach to me. I was so pleased to see you so bright and merry last night. Now tell me about your dress. What would you like it to be?”
“White,” said Geneviève decidedly. “It is as it were my first ball, you see, my cousin.”
“Yes,” said Cicely drily. “I suppose you did not go to balls at Hivèritz?”
“No,” replied Geneviève, in the most matter-of-fact tone. “Papa being a pasteur, you understand, it would hardly have been convenable that I should go to balls there.”
“And what will your parents say to your going here?” inquired Cicely.
“Oh! I don’t think I shall say anything about it,” answered Geneviève carelessly. “Not that I think mamma would object—she has placed me under the care of my aunt—it is not for me to dictate to your mother, Cicely.”