And, “Ah! my cousin, what a pleasant day we have had!” exclaimed Geneviève. “La famille Fawcett est vraiment charmante; and, ah!” she added ecstatically, “quelle belle maison, que de jolies choses! Ah! que je voudrais étre riche!”
“Geneviève!” exclaimed Cicely, in a tone of some remonstrance. But Geneviève only laughed. Then sobering down again, she repeated her speech of the morning. “Ah! Cécile,” she said, “you don’t know what it is to be poor.”
[CHAPTER VIII.]
“THE WITCHCRAFT OF A TEAR.”
“She has
A heart. . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed. . .”
Bells and Pomegranates.
THE week that followed this bright Sunday was dull and rainy. Geneviève went about the house shivering, and was not consoled by Cicely’s calm assurance that it was only what was to be expected for the time of year.
“You forget what a different part of the world you are in, Geneviève,” she said, “for when you first came, the weather was exceptionally beautiful for May, and there was nothing to remind you of being so much further north. Our Mays are generally cold and dull and very often rainy. The real summer has not begun yet. Last week was only a foretaste of it.”
“And how long will it last when it does come?” questioned Geneviève pathetically. “One, two, three weeks perhaps, and everybody cries ‘how beautiful!’ ‘what weather’ ‘superb!’ as if they had never seen the sun before, and then it is over, and again the mists and the fogs. Ah! yes, it is true. I love not the English climate, my cousin.”
“But, my dear child, how can you judge of it yet?” remonstrated Cicely. “You have only been here ten or twelve days. Everybody prophesies a beautiful summer this year.”