“Has it tired you, mother?” said Cicely anxiously when he had gone.
“No, dear. I like him; he is gentle and kind, and I like to see some one who knew us at home,” she sighed a little. “At one time I shrank from reviving any of the associations with our old life, but I am losing that feeling.”
Cicely looked at her with wistful, anguished eyes. “Mother dearest,” she said, “I don’t think I knew how much you loved Greystone. Should I have kept it for you? Would you not have got ill then? I might have hidden it all from you; Trevor would have been glad to do so, and you need have never known there was any trouble between us. Was I selfish and hasty—did I sacrifice you to my pride? Have I done wrong, and is this my punishment?”
“My darling, no—a thousand times no,” replied her mother. “You could not have married Trevor after—after his disappointing you so terribly. You could not love where you did not respect. And you must try to be more hopeful about me, dear, or I shall regret having told you. I have felt better to-day than for some time past.”
Cicely tried to smile. “I think you do look a little better,” she said. “Oh! I do so wish Mr. Guildford could have seen you.”
“He could not have done anything more. He said just the same as Dr.——” replied Mrs. Methvyn. “My wishing to see him was more a matter of feeling. He was so good to your father, I had learnt to trust him; for your sake too, I wish he had been able to see me. He would have understood it all so well.”
“Yes,” said Cicely. “I think he would.”
“He must be becoming quite a great man,” she went on after a pause; “did you hear what Mr. Hayle said about him?”—“I dare say,” she added to herself, “I dare say he has forgotten all about that fancy of his. Men are better off than women; they can always bury trouble in work.”