It was curious how very French she had become since finding herself in England.
Cicely looked at her kindly. “Of course,” she said cheerfully, “of course, you must feel a little home-sick at first.”
Mr. Guildford said nothing, but he fancied Miss Methvyn treated the matter rather cavalierly. An English girl’s sentimentality would have annoyed him, but this poor little thing!—He really pitied her.
“I think my father is expecting us,” said Miss Methvyn, turning to Mr. Guildford. Then she led the way out of the room, across the hall, down the long passage, and up one flight of stairs, the young man following her.
“Is Colonel Methvyn pretty well today?” he inquired, as they went along. “I mean, is this what you consider one of his good days?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Cicely consideringly, stopping for a moment as she spoke. “He has been better this last week or two on the whole. Last month,” her voice faltered a very little, and for an instant she hesitated; “last month he was very far from well. My little nephew’s death was a great shock to him. He will probably speak about it to you. I wanted to tell you so. It was a comfort to him—to us all—that you saw Charlie. I gathered from what Dr. Farmer told me that you thought him constitutionally a very delicate child.”
She looked up with a wistful inquiry in her eyes, somewhat at variance with her perfectly calm tone of voice. Mr. Guildford understood her.
“I did think so,” he said without hesitation. “I believe him to have been an exceedingly fragile child. I have no hesitation in saying that his living to grow up would have been little short of a miracle. And I am equally sure that the greatest care must have been taken of him to rear him even so far.”
Miss Methvyn was silent for a moment.
“Thank you for telling me this,” she said at last quietly. “I am sure it is true. You will say so to my father, if he comes upon the subject? Invalids, you know,” she went on hurriedly, “are apt to become morbid about anything they think too much about. My father could not for long feel satisfied that everything had been done. It was natural; but,” she paused for a little, “but one must try not to judge by results,” she said at last, as she opened the door of her father’s sitting-room.