Cicely’s face grew graver. “I don’t mind going without you, mother,” she said. “Of course, I would much rather stay at home with you, but there is no use repeating that—but please don’t ask me to stay away till to-morrow. Let Parker go with us; she will be delighted to see the fun, and she will take care to wrap us up and all the rest of it. No one need know we are young women without a chaperone—everybody will think we are staying in the house. Don’t say I am not to come home to-night. I can’t bear the idea of it.”
She held up her face coaxingly for her mother to kiss. “Cis, what a baby you are!” said Mrs. Methvyn fondly. “And yet you are so sensible. What in the world will you do when the time comes for you to—”
“Don’t talk about it, mother, please don’t,” interrupted Cicely. “If you do, I shall begin to cry, and then what a fright I shall look to-night!”
“You are not looking well,” said Mrs. Methvyn regretfully. “Indeed, you look as if you had been crying already—have you, dear?”
“Don’t,” exclaimed Cicely, turning away her head to hide the tears only too ready to spring again, “don’t, mother. Let us talk of something cheerful. Geneviève, for instance. Did you ever see a little mortal in such a state of delight as she is? She will look pretty enough to do you credit any way, mother.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Methvyn absently. “Well, then, Cicely,” she added, “I will go and write my note to Frederica and send it at once; and remember, dear, you must be ready very early.”
“Oh! yes,” replied Cicely, “we shall be sure to be in time. I think I am much more likely to enjoy this evening, mother, knowing you are at home with papa. It was partly the feeling of reluctance to leave him alone that made me dull. It is so long, you know, since he has had an evening by himself.”
She spoke more brightly than she felt. She resolved to dismiss her depression and do her best to be cheerful, but it was hard work. Her pretty ball dress seemed a mockery, Geneviève’s fluttering excitement jarred upon her; over and over again she repeated to herself, “Oh! how I wish this evening were over.” And when she went to her father’s room to say good-night, and poor Colonel Methvyn kissed her fondly, and told her he was pleased to see her in a ball dress once more, she could hardly restrain the tears that had seemed strangely near the surface all day.
“Did Mr. Guildford stay long with you this morning, papa?” she asked, anxious to find out if the young man had said anything about the change in his plans.
“Not very long,” replied her father, “he was rather hurried to-day, but he is coming again to-morrow, or the next day. He says he is not at all busy just now, and I am glad of it. I should quite miss his visits.”