Part 9 (1/2)
”Oh! am I not? I could ride from morning till night.”
”You are enthusiastic.”
”Yes,”--with a saucy smile,--”that is one of my many virtues. I think one should be thoroughly in earnest about everything one undertakes. Do you like dancing?”
”Rather. It entirely depends upon whom one may be dancing with. There are some people”--with a short but steady glance at her--”that I feel positive I could dance with forever without knowing fatigue, or what is worse, _ennui_. There are others----” an expressive pause. ”I have felt,” says Sir Guy, with visible depression, ”on certain occasions, as though I could commit an open a.s.sault on the band because it would insist on playing its waltz from start to finish, instead of stopping after the first two bars and thereby giving me a chance of escape.”
”Poor 'others'! I see you can be unkind when you choose.”
”But that is seldom, and only when driven to desperation. Are you fond of dancing? But of course you are: I need scarcely have asked. No doubt you could dance as well as ride from morning until night.”
”You wrong me slightly. As a rule, I prefer dancing from night until morning. You skate?”
”Beautifully!” with ecstatic fervor; ”I never saw any one who could skate as well.”
”No? You shan't be long so. Prepare for a downfall to your pride. I can skate better than any one in the world.”
Here they both laugh, and, turning, let their eyes meet. Instinctively they draw closer to each other, and a very kindly feeling springs into being.
”They maligned you,” says Lilian, softly raising her lovely face, and gazing at him attentively, with a rather dangerous amount of ingenuousness. ”I begin to fancy you are not so very terrific as they said. I dare say we shall be quite good friends after all.”
”I wish I was as sure of most things as I am of my own feeling on that point,” says Guy, with considerable warmth, holding out his hand.
She slips her cool, slim fingers into his, and smiles frankly. There they lie like little snow-flakes on his broad palm, and as he gazes on them a great and most natural desire to kiss them presents itself to his mind.
”I think we ought to ratify our vow of good-fellows.h.i.+p,” says he, artfully, looking at her as though to gain permission for the theft, and seeing no rebuff in her friendly eyes, stoops and steals a little sweetness from the white hand he holds.
They are almost at the house by this time, and presently, gaining the drawing-room, find Lady Chetwoode sitting there awaiting them.
”Ah, Guy, you have returned,” cries she, well pleased.
”Yes, I found my guardian straying aimlessly in a great big wood, so I brought him home in triumph,” says Lilian's gay voice, who is in high good humor. ”Is luncheon ready? Dear Lady Chetwoode, do not say I am late for the second time to-day.”
”Not more than five minutes, and you know we do not profess to live by rule. Run away, and take off your hat, child, and come back to me again.”
So Lilian does as she is desired, and runs away up the broad stairs in haste, to reduce her rebellious locks to order; yet so pleased is she with her _rencontre_ with her guardian, and the want of ferocity he has displayed, and the general desirableness of his face and figure, that she cannot refrain from pausing midway in her career to apostrophize a dark-browed warrior who glowers down upon her from one of the walls.
”By my halidame, and by my troth, and by all the wonderful oaths of your period, Sir Knight,” says she, smiling saucily, and dropping him a wicked curtsey, ”you have good reason to be proud of your kinsman. For, by Cupid, he is a monstrous handsome man, and vastly agreeable!”
After this astounding sally she continues her flight, and presently finds herself in her bedroom and almost in nurse's arms.
”Lawks-amussy!” says that good old lady, with a gasp, putting her hand to her side, ”what a turn you did give me! Will the child never learn to walk?”
”I have seen him!” says Lilian, without preamble, only pausing to give nurse a naughty little poke in the other side with a view to restoring her lost equilibrium.
”Sir Guy?” anxiously.
”Even so. The veritable and awful Sir Guy! And he isn't a bit awful, in spite of all we heard; isn't that good news? and he is very handsome, and quite nice, and apparently can enjoy the world as well as another, and can do a naughty thing at a pinch; and I know he likes me by the expression of his eyes, and he actually unbended so far as to stoop to kiss my hand! There!” All this without stop or comma.