“An old friend,” repeated Mrs. Methvyn. “Was it could it have been Mr. Guildford?”
She spoke so eagerly that Cicely looked at her in surprise; and now for the first time she observed that her mother was exceedingly pale.
“Mother dear, I am afraid I have startled you,” she said penitently. “No, it wasn’t Mr. Guildford. It was Mr. Hayle. Shall you dislike his coming to see you to-morrow.”
“Oh! no. I shall be very glad to see him,” replied Mrs. Methvyn. But the interest had died out of her voice. She leaned back in her chair as if exhausted. “Will you see if Parker has come in, Cicely?” she said. “I sent her out on a message a few minutes ago. I shall come downstairs in a little while, and then you can tell me about Mr. Hayle. I did not know he had left—Lingthurst.”
By her the word was pronounced with an evident effort. Just then Parker came in. “I think this is the same as the last you had, ma’am,” she said, “but it is not often different chemists prepare things quite alike.”
She had a small phial in her hand, she did not observe Cicely standing by.
“What have you been getting mamma medicine for, Parker?” she said. “She’s not ill.”
Parker started. “It is only the same tonic that Dr. Farmer gave me long ago,” said Mrs. Methvyn. “Go and take off your things, dear. I shall be down directly.”
Cicely was not satisfied, but she left the room. Later in the afternoon when she and her mother were alone together, she recurred to what had been said. “Mamma,” she began, “what made you think of Mr. Guildford to-day when I told you I had met an old friend?”
“I think I should have been glad if it had been he,” said Mrs. Methvyn. “I had great confidence in him. I think him very clever.”