Part 20 (2/2)
”It would be no use; you would not see her.”
”But I might.”
”And if so, what would you gain by it? She is very much like other women: she has only one nose, and not more than two eyes.”
”Nevertheless she rouses my curiosity. Why have you such a dislike to the poor woman?”
”Oh, no dislike,” says Guy, the more hastily in that he feels there is some truth in the accusation. ”I don't quite trust her: that is all.”
”Still, take me near The Cottage; _do_, now, Guardy,” says Miss Chesney, softly, turning two exquisite appealing blue eyes upon him, which of course settles the question. They instantly turn and take the direction that leads to The Cottage.
But their effort to see the mysterious widow is not crowned with success. To Miss Chesney's sorrow and Sir Guy's secret joy, the house appears as silent and devoid of life as though, indeed, it had never been inhabited. With many a backward glance and many a wistful look, Lilian goes by, while Guy carefully suppresses all expressions of satisfaction and trudges on silently beside her.
”She must be out,” says Lilian, after a lengthened pause.
”She must be always out,” says Guy, ”because she is never to be seen.”
”You must have come here a great many times to find that out,” says Miss Chesney, captiously, which remark puts a stop to all conversation for some time.
And indeed luck is dead against Lilian, for no sooner has she pa.s.sed out of sight than Mrs. Arlington steps from her door, and, armed with a book and a parasol, makes for the small and shady arbor situated at the end of the garden.
But if Lilian's luck has deserted her, Cyril's has not. He has walked down here this evening in a rather desponding mood, having made the same journey vainly for the last three days, and now--just as he has reached despair--finds himself in Mrs. Arlington's presence.
”Good-evening,” he says, gayly, feeling rather elated at his good fortune, raising his hat.
”Good-evening,” returns she, with a faint blush born of a vivid recollection of all that pa.s.sed at their last meeting.
”I had no idea I should see you to-day,” says Cyril; which is the exact truth,--for a wonder.
”Why? You always see me when you come round here, don't you?” says Mrs.
Arlington; which is not the truth, she having been the secret witness of his coming many times, when she has purposely abstained from being seen.
”I hope,” says Cyril, gently, ”you have forgiven me for having inadvertently offended you last--month.”
”Last week, you mean!” in a surprised tone.
”Is it really only a week? How long it seems!” says Cyril. ”Are you sure it was only last week?”
”Quite sure,” with a slight smile. ”Yes, you are forgiven. Although I do not quite know that I have anything to forgive.”
”Well, I had my own doubts about it at the time,” says Cyril; ”but I have been carefully tutoring myself ever since into the belief that I was wrong. I think my princ.i.p.al fault lay in my expressing a hope that the air here was doing you good; and that--to say the least of it--was mild. By the bye, _is_ it doing you good?”
”Yes, thank you.”
”I am glad of it, as it may persuade you to stay with us. What lovely roses you have! Is that one over there a 'Gloire de Dijon'? I can scarcely see it from this, and I'm so fond of roses.”
”This, do you mean?” plucking one. ”No, it is a Marshal Neil.”
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