“Some one else?” suggested Cecily, with a little laugh.
“Yes—you.”
Cecily raised her head, and looked full at her friend. There was in her face a curious mixture of expression; a sort of pitying consternation and a faint gleam of amusement. It was the glance with which a mother might have heard of some unreasonable and rather troublesome caprice on the part of her son. Rueful annoyance was coupled with a slight admixture of tenderness.
“It would be so like Robert,” was all she said in reply to Rose.
“And if it’s true,” pursued Rose after a moment, “would you——?” She paused.
“Oh, Rose!” said Cecily. “Rose——?” She drew her breath in suddenly. “If you hit a live thing on the head often enough, you make it insensible. What’s the good of caressing it then?”
Mrs. Summers was silent.
“Robert ought to go away,” Cecily continued, rising from the table. “He’ll be ill if he doesn’t. I’d like him to go yachting with the Daintons,” she went on, meditatively. “They are always asking him. I wonder if it could be managed?”
“No doubt,” Rose assured her.
“If only he could get away before he hears anything—and stay away till that young woman is safely married!”