“But after a while you will not feel it so bitterly,” persisted Cicely, and Mrs. Methvyn tried to believe it would be so.
As far as was possible Cicely spared her mother all the painful details of the utter change in their prospects. It was arranged that Geneviève should return home to Hivèritz at the same time that the Methvyns left the Abbey; and though before then it became necessary to tell Mr. Fawcett’s parents of his engagement to Miss Casalis, the fact was not made public. And fortunately for herself, Geneviève’s spirits continued in a subdued state during the short remainder of her stay.
“She looks so frightened and miserable, mother,” said Cicely one day when Geneviève had rushed out of the room suddenly, to avoid meeting her aunt, who came in unexpectedly. “Can you not forgive her?”
“I have forgiven her,” said Mrs. Methvyn coldly. “I promised you I would. I confess I have not yet come to pitying her, as you seem to do, Cicely. I know her now better than you do. More than half of that misery is affectation. She will not have a thought of self-reproach when it comes to buying her trousseau and being congratulated. Oh! I do wish that you had let my first letter go, the one in which I told Caroline the truth.”
“But you did tell her the truth in the one that went,” said Cicely. “You told her that my engagement had been broken off entirely by my own wish, and that Mr. Fawcett had fallen in love with Geneviève, and that his parents approved of it.”
“That was not the whole truth,” said Mrs. Methvyn. “Do not take up my words in that way, Cicely.”
“Well, mother, there would have been no good in telling more,” replied Cicely gravely. “What Geneviève may choose to tell her mother herself is a different matter, and does not concern us. In the same way I very much prefer that Trevor’s parents should be told nothing by us, though I fear poor Sir Thomas suspects something. How kind he has been!”
She sighed as she recalled her old friend’s endeavours to shake her determination. Lady Frederica had cried over it till the thought of the admiration that would certainly attend the débút in fashionable society of so lovely a daughter-in-law as Geneviève, had suggested itself as consolation. But long before there was any talk of his son’s “new love,” Sir Thomas had come over to see Cicely in hopes of getting to the bottom of the mysterious misunderstanding between her and Trevor. He had gone away sorrowful, convinced at last that the girl’s decision was unalterable, but none the more reconciled to it on that account.
“I trust, my dear, that, as you assure me, false pride has nothing to say to it,” were the parting words of the honest-hearted old man. “Trevor told me it was no use my coming, but I—well, I fancied old heads were cooler than young ones sometimes, even in a case of this kind. I can’t blame you, Cicely—I think too highly of you for that, even if my boy had not assured me most solemnly that what you have done has only doubled his respect and admiration for you. If I thought he was to blame” a hard look came over Sir Thomas’s comfortable face.
“Don’t think any one is to blame,” Cicely entreated, “in the end we may all come to see that it has been for the best.”