Miss Methvyn found her mother in the library.
“Mr. Guildford has been here, Cicely,” said Mrs. Methvyn as she came in.
“Yes, I know; Geneviève has just told me. I wish I had seen him. I think he might have waited a few minutes.”
“He said he would; he seemed to want to see you,” said Mrs. Methvyn. “I told him you would not be out long, and he seemed in no hurry, and went out into the garden with Geneviève. Then, to my surprise, in about a quarter of an hour he came in again suddenly and told me he had just remembered an engagement at Sothernbay, and that he could not possibly wait any longer. But he is coming again to-morrow.”
“To-morrow,” repeated Cicely. “Why should he come so soon again!”
“I don’t quite know,” said her mother. “Cicely,” she went on tremulously, “I am afraid he does not think your father quite so well.”
“Do you think so, dear mother?” said Cicely. “I hope not. You get nervous. I wish I had been in.”
“So do I,” said Mrs. Methvyn. “I fancied from his manner that he would have spoken more openly to you.”
“What did he say? Tell me exactly, mother,” said Cicely. Her voice sounded calm, but inwardly a sort of icy tremor seemed to have seized her. She would not tell her mother that even to her eyes a slight change had been visible in her father for the last day or two; she had tried to persuade herself that it was “only her fancy;” but she had longed for Mr Guildford’s next visit with intense though concealed anxiety. “Do tell me all he said,” she repeated.
“He did not say much. It was before he had seen Geneviève,” replied Mrs. Methvyn. “After he had been with your father, he came down here and asked when you would be in. Then he said he thought your father rather “low” to-day, and that he had been trying to persuade him not do so much—to get a proper man of business to manage things, and not to worry himself. I think it is true, and I told Mr. Guildford I agreed with him. I know Phillip has been annoyed the last few days by some letters he got.”