Geneviève made no more objections.
“I knew not that you were at church,” she said; “I could not see you.”
“Did you look for me?” said Mr. Fawcett lightly.
To his surprise Geneviève grew scarlet, and made no reply. He felt vexed with himself for annoying her.
“French girls are brought up so primly,” he reflected. “I suspect she thinks my manners very free and easy, poor little soul. How sensitive she is!”
There was increased gentleness in his tone when next he spoke.
“We sit up in the gallery,” he said; “we have a sort of little room up there all to ourselves. So I saw you, Miss Casalis, though you didn’t see me.”
Geneviève felt that the new bonnet and lavender muslin had not been donned in vain.
“There is Cicely,” continued Mr. Fawcett, “as happy as a king, chatting to her old woman. Another stile, Miss Casalis, that’s right; you are as light as a feather.”
Geneviève laughed merrily; the sound of the cheerful voices reached Cicely in front; she stopped, said good-bye to her old friend, and walked back slowly to meet her cousins.