But of going to them as Mr. Fawcett proposed, of making her home even temporarily with the two people who had so cruelly deceived her—of this, Cicely felt that there could be no question.
“I have forgiven all that I had to forgive,” she said to herself. “I see where I myself was to blame, and for myself I do not regret the results. But I could never feel at home with them again.”
And in the gentlest but firmest words she wrote to her cousin declining his invitation.
She sent another letter by the same post, a letter in reply to the one which had reached her at the same time as Trevor’s, and which had also contained an invitation—an invitation which after some consideration she had decided to accept.
“I think it is a very nice plan, my dear Miss Methvyn, a very nice plan indeed,” said Miss Winter when Cicely told her of her intention. “I hope the change will do you a great deal of good, and the sooner you arrange for it the better, sorry though I shall be to leave you. If you had been intending to keep house for yourself and I had been free, I should have asked nothing better than to have remained with you. I have been so happy with you, dear Miss Methvyn. But duty calls me elsewhere; and of course even if I were free, it would hardly do for me to take another situation without first inquiring if dear Lady Frederica wanted me—considering all her kindness.”
Poor Miss Winter! A long course of genteel dependence had taught her the expediency of seeing most things “couleur de rose,” but as Cicely looked at her faded pink cheeks and listened to her nervously amiable platitudes, she came to agree with Mr. Hayle, she felt thankful that she was not called upon to join the ranks of the vast army of decayed gentlewomen who have to earn for themselves their daily bread.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
MADAME GENTILLE.
“Pourquoi me regardez vous comme cela?
Est-ce que je vous ai fait quelque chose?
— Non, répondit-il.
Certes, il n’avait rien contre elle. Loin de là.”
Les Misérables.