“Of course not. I know that,” said Mr. Fawcett hastily. “Of course, Cicely, you know I didn’t mean to speak unfeelingly. How curious it is about your cousin by the bye,” he went on, as if anxious to change the subject, “about our having knocked her down at Hivèritz, I mean.”
“Yes, it was very curious,” said Cicely. “But you knew a cousin was coming to stay with us, Trevor; I mentioned it in several of my letters.”
“Oh! yes. I knew a Miss Casalis was coming,” said Trevor, “but somehow I didn’t fancy she would be that sort of a cousin.”
“What sort did you expect?” asked Miss Methvyn.
“Oh! I fancied she would be an older person, or at least a plain ordinary girl. One doesn’t expect a girl like Geneviève to come out of a French pastor’s household. Do you like her, Cicely?”
“Of course I do,” said Cicely. “It would be very difficult not to like her; don’t you think so? She is so pretty, and so sweet and timid.”
“I wish all the same she had been older, more the sort of person I expected,” observed Mr. Fawcett. “She will be always with you now, Cicely, and it won’t be half so comfortable.”
“What would you have done if I had had a young sister?” asked Cicely.
“I should have got accustomed to her and should have known her always. A stranger coming is quite different. And one must be civil to her, as she is a young lady,” grumbled Mr. Fawcett.
“And so very pretty,” added Cicely mischievously, but she did not succeed in making her cousin smile.