It was almost with a feeling of relief, or what he imagined to be such, that he turned to Geneviève, who had opened the glass door and stood waiting for them.
“How charming it is!” she said; “but, my cousin, my aunt fears lest you should take cold.”
“I am coming in now, mother,” Cicely said as they came within hearing, “do come here for a moment and look at the beautiful moonlight.”
Mrs. Methvyn rose from her seat by the table, and joined the little group at the window.
“Yes,” she said, “it is lovely, but it is rather cold.” She shivered as she spoke, and retired to the fire. The others were following her, when suddenly a whistle was heard, not a railway whistle this time. It sounded at some little distance away, down among the shrubberies. Cicely stopped, and seemed to listen.
“What was that? It surely can’t be” The whistle was repeated. “Go in, Geneviève,” she said, “I shall be back directly.”
And almost before her cousin and Mr. Guildford saw what she was doing, she had started off and was lost to sight among the bushes.
Geneviève and Mr. Guildford looked at each other in surprise. Then Geneviève came into the library again and spoke to her aunt.
“My cousin has gone out again, aunt,” she said; “shall we leave the door open till she returns?”
“Cicely gone out again!” exclaimed Mrs. Methvyn. “How very foolish! Do you see her Mr. Guildford?” she asked, for the young man was still standing by the window.