Part 26 (1/2)
”I wish I knew,” replies he: ”I confess it has been puzzling me ever since. We must ask Florence when we go in.”
Here they both laugh a little, and stroll on for a time in silence. At length, being prompted thereto by her evil genius, Lilian says:
”Tell me, who is the Heskett you and auntie were talking about just now?”
”A boy who lives down in the hollow beneath Leigh's farm,--a dark boy we met one day at the end of the lawn; you remember him?”
”A lad with great black eyes and a handsome face with just a little _soupcon_ of wickedness about him? of course I do. Oh! I like that boy.
You must forgive him, Sir Guy, or I shall be unhappy forever.”
”Do you know him?”
”Yes, well. And his mother, too: she is a dear old thing, and but that she has an undeniable penchant for tobacco, would be perfection. Guardy, you _must_ forgive him.”
”My dear child, I can't.”
”Not when I ask you?” in a tone of purest astonishment.
”Not even then. Ask me something else,--in fact, anything,--and I will grant it, but not this.”
”I want nothing else,” coldly. ”I have set my heart on freeing this poor boy and you refuse me: and it is my first request.”
”It is always your first request, is it not?” he says, smiling a rather troubled smile. ”Yesterday----”
”Oh, don't remind me of what I may have said yesterday,” interrupts Miss Chesney, impatiently: ”think of to-day! I ask you to forgive Heskett--for my sake.”
”You should try to understand all that would entail,” speaking the more sternly in that it makes him positively wretched to say her nay: ”if I were to forgive Heskett this time, I should have every second man on my estate a poacher.”
”On the contrary, I believe you would make them all your devoted slaves.
'The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle dew from heaven, Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd.'”
”I have said I would not, and even you can hardly think it right that I should break my word.”
”No, you would rather break his mother's heart!” By this time the spoiled Lilian has quite made up her mind to have her own way, and is ready to try any means to gain it. ”Your word!” she says disdainfully: ”if you are going to emulate the Medes and Persians, of course there is no use of my arguing with you. You ought to be an ancient Roman; even that detestable Brutus might be considered soft-hearted when compared with you.”
”Sneering, Lilian, is a habit that should be confined to those old in sorrow or worldly wisdom: it sits badly on such lips as yours.”
”Then why compel me to indulge in it? Give me my way in this one instance, and I will be good, and will probably never sneer again.”
”I cannot.”
”Then don't!” naughtily, made exceeding wroth by (what she is pleased to term) his obstinacy. ”I was foolish in thinking I could influence you in any way. Had Florence asked you, you would have said yes instantly.”
”Florence would never have asked me to do anything so unreasonable.”
”Of course not! Florence never does wrong in your eyes. It is a pity every one else does not regard her as favorably as you do.”