“Still I wish she had sent me a word,” said Mrs. Methvyn, looking hardly satisfied. “It is not like Caroline—she is generally so exact. My letter was a very particular one. But if she got it, I dare say it is all right.”
An uneasy look came over Geneviève’s face. Cicely, observing it, fancied she was pained by the slight reflection on Madame Casalis’ carefulness.
“I am sure it is all right, mother,” she said, “you know Geneviève says they are very busy, and the particular message about the letter having arrived shows it must be all right.”
“Oh! yes, I have no doubt it is,” answered Mrs. Methvyn, and then they talked of other things.
But Geneviève did not recover her cheerfulness or composure thoroughly throughout the meal, and when it was over she seemed eager to run off. Just as she was leaving the room, her aunt called after her,
“I am quite satisfied with the message you gave me, Geneviève. Don’t say anything to your mother about what I said, when you write. It might worry her, and I am sure she is busy. You will not be writing just yet, by the bye; it is only two days since you wrote, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Geneviève timidly.
“Then you won’t be writing again this week?”
“No,” said Geneviève still more timidly.
“I thought not. Tell me when you do, I shall have a few words for you to enclose,” and then Geneviève was allowed to go.