“It’s not comfortable,” he repeated.
“My dear Trevor, you are very cross. I assure you Geneviève is the last person to interfere with your comfort. She is only too timid and retiring,” remonstrated Cicely.
Mr. Fawcett did not reply. He sat silent for a minute or two, seemingly a very little less good-humoured than his wont. Then suddenly he looked up.
“By the bye, Cicely,” he said, “who was that fellow that was here last night? I have never seen him before, have I?”
Something in his words made Miss. Methvyn’s tone, as she replied, hardly as equable as usual.
“It was Mr. Guildford, the doctor from Sothernbay,” she answered a little coldly. “He is coming over every week now to see my father, as Dr. Farmer has gone.”
“Oh! yes, I remember. A very good thing for him, I dare say. It’s not often a Sothernbay surgeon gets such a chance,” said Mr. Fawcett carelessly.
Miss Methvyn’s face flushed slightly.
“I don’t think you—I wish you wouldn’t speak of Mr. Guildford in that way, Trevor,” she said gently. “He isn’t that sort of man. Don’t you remember my telling you how kind he was when Charlie died?—coming at once and staying so long, though he was a perfect stranger. I believe he is a very clever man, and a very kind-hearted one too. Indeed I don’t see how a doctor can be a really good one if he is always thinking about his own advancement more than of anything else.”
“It’s the way of the world unfortunately, for doctors and everybody to do so,” said Mr. Fawcett. “But I didn’t mean to say anything against your doctor, Cicely. I hadn’t the least idea who he was last night. But I’ll tell you what,” he added, after a little pause, as a bright idea suddenly struck him, “if you don’t take care you’ll have this disinterested young man falling in love with your pretty cousin, Cicely, if you let him come about in this tame-cat way.”