“No, I don’t,” he replied; “Miss Methvyn ran off so quickly. We had better shut the door in the meantime, however.”
He came inside and closed it. Mrs. Methvyn looked annoyed and uneasy.
“I can’t understand what Cicely is thinking of,” she said.
“There was a—what do you call—siffle, siffle—a fistle—wistle?” said Geneviève, “down in the garden, and then Cicely ran.”
“What do you mean, my dear?” said Mrs. Methvyn with slight impatience. “Do you know, Mr. Guildford?”
He was half annoyed and half amused.
“It is just as Miss Casalis says,” he replied. “We heard a whistle at some little distance, and Miss Methvyn ran off at once.”
“Was it a peculiar whistle, like two short notes and then a long one?” inquired Mrs. Methvyn more composedly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Guildford; “I heard it twice; it was just that.”
“Then the Fawcetts must have returned,” exclaimed Cicely’s mother. “How surprised every one will be! They intended to stay abroad till July.”