Lady Frederica waited in expectation of hearing more, but Mr. Fawcett took up a book from the table and sat down as if he were going to read.
“Well?” said his mother.
He looked up impatiently. “What is it, mother?” he said.
“I am waiting to hear how you found them—poor Helen and Cicely,—you must know that I am very anxious to hear how they are, and if they will see me if I go to Greystone to-morrow,” said Lady Frederica.
Mr. Fawcett played with the leaves of his book, as if impatient to go on reading it. “I cannot tell you,” he said. “I think your best plan will be to go to-morrow and inquire for yourself. My going is no use.”
“Why?” exclaimed his mother in astonishment.
“Simply because they will not see me,” he replied. “Not Mrs. Methvyn—of course I did not expect to see her—but Cicely, she will not see me.”
“Cicely would not see you! How extraordinary! Is she ill?”
“No, the servant said she was very well. As well as could be expected, or some rubbish of that kind. But she most distinctly refused to see me.”
“Did she know it was you?” said Sir Thomas. “She may have given a general order about seeing no one, without meaning to exclude you.”