When Ralph walked back to the Tolbridge piazza he found the working-girl sitting there, waiting for him.  His mind was not in an altogether satisfactory condition; some things Miss Panney had said had pleased and even excited him, but there were other things that he resented.  If she had not been such an old lady, and if she had not talked so rapidly, he might have shown this resentment.  But he had not done so, and now the more he thought about it, the stronger the feeling grew.

As for Cicely Drane, she was a great deal more quiet during the drive home, than she had been when going to Thorbury.  Her mind was in an unsatisfactory condition, and this had been occasioned by an interview with La Fleur, who had waylaid her in the hall as she came out of the doctor’s office.

The good cook had been in a state of enthusiastic delight, since, looking out of the kitchen window where she had been sitting, with a manuscript book of recipes in her lap, planning the luncheon and dinner, she had seen the lord of Cobhurst drive up to the gate with dear Miss Cicely.  It was a joy like that of listening to a party of dinner guests, who were eating her favorite ice.  With intense impatience she had awaited the appearance of Cicely from the doctor’s office; and, having drawn her to one side, she hastily imparted her sentiments.

“It’s a shabby gig, Miss Cicely,” she said, “such as the farmers use in the old country, but it’s his own, and not hired, and the big house is his own, and all the broad acres.  And he’s a gentleman from head to heel, living on his own estate, and as fine a built man as ever rode in the Queen’s army.  Oh, Miss Cicely, your star is at the top of the heavens this time, and I want you to let me know if there is anything you want in the way of hats or wraps or clothes, or anything of that kind.  It doesn’t make the least difference to me, you know, just now, and we’ll settle it all after a while.  It is the Christian duty for every young lady to look the smartest, especially at a time like this.”

Cicely, her face flushed, drew herself away.

“La Fleur,” she said, speaking quickly and in a low voice, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”  And she hurried away, fearing that Mr. Haverley was waiting for her.

La Fleur was not a bit ashamed of herself; she chuckled as she went back to the kitchen.

“She’s a young thing of brains and beauty,” said she to herself, “and I don’t doubt that she had the notion in her own mind.  But if it wasn’t there, I have put it there, and if it was there, I’ve dished it and dressed it, and it will be like another thing to her.  As for the rest of it, he’ll attend to that.  I haven’t a doubt that he is the curly-headed, brave fellow to do that; and I’ll find out from her mother if she needs anything, and not hurt her pride neither.”

CHAPTER XXIX

HYPOTHESIS AND INNUENDO