"I
hadn't thought of that. Then we're responsible; it was we who advised
Hilary to make her change her lodging."
Stephen stared; he regretted sincerely that his legal habit of mind had
made him put the case so clearly.
"I can't imagine," he said, almost violently, "what possesses everybody!
We--responsible! Good gracious! Because we gave Hilary some sound
advice! What next?"
Cecilia turned to the empty hearth.
"Thyme has been telling me about that poor little thing. It seems so
dreadful, and I can't get rid of the feeling that we're--we're all mixed
up with it!"
"Mixed up with what?"
"I don't know; it's just a feeling like--like being haunted."
Stephen took her quietly by the arm.
"My dear old girl," he said, "I'd no idea that you were run down like
this. To-morrow's Thursday, and I can get away at three. We'll motor
down to Richmond, and have a round or two!"
Cecilia quivered; for a moment it seemed that she was about to burst out
crying. Stephen stroked her shoulder steadily. Cecilia must have felt
his dread; she struggled loyally with her emotion.
"That will be very jolly," she said at last.
Stephen drew a deep breath.
"And don't you worry, dear," he said, "about your dad; he'll have
forgotten the whole thing in a day or two; he's far too wrapped up in
his book.
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