Part 19 (2/2)
”Never mind the plants. Think of your own beauty. I came here to ask you if you will come for a walk in the woods. I have just been there, and it is absolutely cool.”
”I should like to immensely,” springing to her feet; ”but my hands,”--hesitating,--”what am I to do with them? Shall I run in and wash them? I shan't be one minute.”
”Oh, no!”--hastily, having a wholesome horror of women's minutes, ”come down to the stream, and we will wash them there.”
This suggestion, savoring of unconventionality, finds favor in Miss Chesney's eyes, and they start, going through the lawn, for the tiny rivulet that runs between it and the longed-for woods.
Kneeling beside it, Lilian lets the fresh gurgling water trail through her fingers, until all the dust falls from them and floats away on its bosom; then reluctantly she withdraws her hands and, rising, looks at them somewhat ruefully.
”Now, how shall I dry them?” asks she, glancing at the drops of water that fall from her fingers and glint and glisten like diamonds in the sun's rays.
”In your handkerchief,” suggests Guy.
”But then it would be wet, and I should hate that. Give me yours,” says Miss Chesney, with calm selfishness.
Guy laughs, and produces an unopened handkerchief in which he carefully, and, it must be confessed, very tardily dries her fingers, one by one.
”Do you always take as long as that to dry your own hands?” asks Lilian, gravely, when he has arrived at the third finger of the second hand.
”Always!” without a blush.
”Your dressing, altogether, must take a long time?”
”Not so long as you imagine. It is only on my hands I expend so much care.”
”And on mine,” suggestively.
”Exactly so. Do you never wear rings?”
”Never. And for the very best reason.”
”And that?”
”Is because I haven't any to wear. I have a few of my mother's, but they are old-fas.h.i.+oned and heavy, and look very silly on my hands. I must get them reset.”
”I like rings on pretty hands, such as yours.”
”And Florence's. Yes, she has pretty hands, and pretty rings also.”
”Has she?”
”What! Would you have me believe you never noticed them? Oh, Sir Guy, how deceitful you can be!”
”Now, that is just the very one vice of which I am entirely innocent.
You wrong me. I couldn't be deceitful to save my life. I always think it must be so fatiguing. Most young ladies have pretty hands, I suppose; but I never noticed those of Miss Beauchamp, or her rings either, in particular. Are you fond of rings?”
”Pa.s.sionately fond,” laughing. ”I should like to have every finger and both of my thumbs covered with them up to the first knuckle.”
”And n.o.body ever gave you one?”
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