"Stay on in this house of mourning? Oh, no, Cicely!"
"I have promised," she said.
The young man grew curiously agitated.
"Oh, don't stay here!" he besought her. "It keeps me in such dreadful suspense!"
"In suspense!" she exclaimed. "Whatever do you mean, Malcolm?"
Again she saw that look in his eye, and again he raised a sympathy-beseeching wail. Cicely's patience began to give way.
"Really, Malcolm!" she cried tartly, "if you have anything to say, say it, but don't go on like a baby!"
"Like a baby!" repeated the deeply affronted baronet. "Heavens, would you liken me to that, of all things! I had meant to confide in you, Cicely, but you have made it impossible. Impossible!" he repeated sombrely, and stalked to the door.
Next morning, Sir Malcolm left for London, his confidence still locked in his breast, and Cicely was alone with Lady Cromarty.
