“I will forgive him—utterly,” said Amiel. “I promise you I will, whenever, or if ever, I see you as happy as I am; and that, he would never have made you. You would have been so tired of him—as tired of him as Herbert ought to have been of me long ago!”
And so saying she gathered together her velvet draperies, and held up her face—she was not quite as tall as her sister—for a parting kiss. Cicely spent the evening quietly by herself—she had disappeared for the night before the Forresters’ return. It was not till the next morning at breakfast that she heard anything about the dinner-party.
“How did you get on last night?” she asked her sister. “Did Dr. Furnival take you in to dinner?”
“No, my dear, he did not,” said Amiel importantly. “Would you like to know who had the honour of doing so?”
“Lord H—himself, perhaps,” said Cicely. “There were not many people there, were there?”
“No, very few,” replied Lady Forrester. “Only two other ladies, but they were both far bigger people than I, so I was not the prima donna, as Mrs. Malaprop or Mrs. Gamp or somebody says. Who do you think was my fate for the evening?”
“How can I guess?”
Amy’s eyes sparkled. “Can’t you really?” she exclaimed. “Well, then, I’ll tell you. It was the gentleman we have been staying at home to see for nearly a week. I told him so,” she added maliciously.
“Mr. Guildford!” exclaimed Cicely.
“Yes, my dear, Mr. Guildford. And I made myself very nice to him. Didn’t I, Herbert?”