Part 23 (1/2)
”Was it? You were so enviably dry, in spite of the rain, I quite thought you had been in the house.”
”For once your usually faultless judgment led you astray. I was in an arbor, where Mrs. Arlington kindly gave me shelter until the rain was over.”
”Was Mrs. Arlington in the arbor too?”
”Yes.”
”How very romantic! I suppose it was she gave you the lovely yellow rose you were regarding so affectionately?” says Miss Beauchamp, with a low laugh.
”I always think, Florence, what a fortune you would have made at the bar,” says Cyril, thoughtfully; ”your cross-examinations would have had the effect of turning your witnesses gray. I am utterly convinced you would have ended your days on the woolsack. It is a pity to see so much native talent absolutely wasted.”
”Not altogether wasted,” sweetly: ”it has at least enabled me to discover how it was you eluded the rain this evening.”
”You met Mrs. Arlington before to-day?” asks Guy, who is half amused and half relieved, as he remembers how needlessly jealous he has been about his brother's attentions to Lilian. He feels also some vague doubts as to the propriety of Cyril's losing his heart to a woman of whom they know nothing; and his singular silence on the subject of having made her acquaintance is (to say the least of it) suspicious. But, as Cyril has been in a chronic state of love-making ever since he got into his first tall hat, this doubt causes him but little uneasiness.
”Yes,” says Cyril, in answer to his question.
”Is she as pretty as Sir Guy says?” asks Lilian, smiling.
”Quite as pretty, if not more so. One may always depend upon Guy's taste.”
”What a good thing it was you knew her! It saved you from that dreadful shower,” says Lilian, good-naturedly, seeing intuitively he is vexed.
”We were not so fortunate: we had to run for our lives all the way home.
It is a pity, Florence, you didn't know her also, as, being so near the house, you might have thrown yourself upon her hospitality for a little while.”
”I hardly think I see it in that light,” drawls Florence, affectedly.
”I confess I don't feel exactly ambitious about making the acquaintance of this Mrs.--er----”
”Arlington is her name,” suggests Cyril, quietly. ”Have you forgotten it? My dear Florence, you really should see some one about your memory: it is failing every day.”
”I can still remember _some_ things,” retorts Miss Beauchamp, blandly.
By this time it has occurred to Lady Chetwoode that matters are not going exactly smoothly; whereupon she glances at Miss Beauchamp, then at Lilian, and finally carries them both off with her to the drawing-room.
”If there is one thing I detest,” says Cyril, throwing himself back in his chair, with an impatient movement, when he has closed the door upon them, ”it is a vindictive woman. I pity the man who marries Florence Beauchamp.”
”You are rather hard upon her, are you not?” says Guy. ”I have known her very good-natured.”
”Lucky you! I cannot recall many past acts of kindness on her part.”
”So you met Mrs. Arlington?” says Guy, carelessly.
”Yes; one day I restored to her her dog; and to-day she offered me shelter from the rain, simply because she couldn't help it. There our acquaintance rests.”
”Where is the rose she gave you?” asks Guy, with a laugh, in which, after a moment's struggle, Cyril joins.