Part 27 (1/2)
”I have it here--to show you.” A choking of her voice broke the sentence. She held out the letter. Mrs. Lessingham found the following lines:--
”DEAR CECILY,
”I have, of course, returned to Naples, and I earnestly hope I may see you between ten and eleven to-morrow morning. I must see you alone. You cannot reply I will come and send my name in the ordinary way.
”Yours ever,
”R. ELGAR.”
Mrs. Lessingham looked up. Cecily, who was standing before her, now met her gaze steadily.
”The meaning of this is plain enough,” said her aunt, with careful repression of feeling. ”But I am at a loss to understand how it has come about.”
”I cannot tell you, aunt. I cannot tell myself.”
Cecily's true accents once more. It was as though she had recovered all her natural self-command now that the revelation was made. The flush still possessed her cheeks, but she had no look of embarra.s.sment; she spoke in a soft murmur, but distinctly, firmly.
”I am afraid that is only too likely, dear. Come and sit down, little girl, and tell me, at all events, something about it.”
”Little girl?” repeated Cecily, with a sweet, affectionate smile. ”No; that has gone by, aunt.”
”I thought so myself the other day; but--I suppose you have met Mr.
Elgar several times at his sister's, and have said nothing to me about it?”
”That would not have been my usual behaviour, I hope. When did I deceive you, aunt?”
”Never, that I know. Where have you met then?”
”Only at the times and places of which you know.”
”Where did you give Mr. Elgar the right to address you in this manner?”
”Only yesterday. I think you mustn't ask me more than that, aunt.”
”I'm afraid your companions were rather lacking in discretion,” said the other, in a tone of annoyance.
”No; not in the sense you attach to the words. But, aunt, you are speaking as if I _were_ a little girl, to be carefully watched at every step.”
Mrs. Lessingham mused, looking absently at the letter. She paid no heed to her niece's last words, but at length said with decision:
”Cecily, this meeting cannot take place.”
The girl replied with a look of uttermost astonishment.
”It is impossible, dear. Mr. Elgar should not have written to you like this. He should have addressed himself to other people.”
”Other people? But you don't understand, aunt. I cannot explain to you.
I expected this letter; and we must see each other.”
Her voice trembled, failed.