No answer.
“Cicely,” he repeated.
“What, Trevor?” she said gently. Her tone was sad, but nothing more.
“What are you offended at?” he asked. “I did not in the least mean to vex you—you might know that—but you take up things so hastily now. You, who used to be so sweet-tempered.”
His words touched her. Cicely’s conscience was very tender.
“Am I ill-tempered?” she said anxiously. “You never used to think me so, but perhaps it is true. I don’t understand myself now, it seems to me, so I should not be hard upon Geneviève.”
“That’s just it,” said Trevor. “You are hard upon her, Cicely, and I have always thought so. What was it that she did to vex you to-day?”
“I would much rather not speak about it any more,” said Cicely. “It only makes you think me unkind, and perhaps I am fanciful.”
“No, I won’t think you unkind. Do tell me. I want to know what it was.”
“It was when we were talking about to-morrow. Something was said about your dancing first with me, and you said I must certainly keep half-a-dozen dances for you, as it was so long since we had had any, Don’t you remember?”