Part 37 (1/2)

”Where she always is,--in the garden with her cousin, Mr. Chesney.”

”Always?” says Guy, lightly, though in reality his face has grown suddenly pale, and his fingers clinch involuntarily.

”Well,” in her unchangeable placid staccato voice, ”generally. He seems very _epris_ with her, and she appears to receive his admiration favorably. Have you not noticed it?”

”I cannot say I have.”

”No?”--incredulously--”how extraordinary! But men are proverbially dull in the observation of such matters as love-affairs. Some, indeed,” with slow meaning, ”are positively _blind_.”

She lays her work upon the table before her and examines it critically.

She does not so much as glance at her victim, though secretly enjoying the knowledge that he is writhing beneath the lash.

”Chesney would be a good match for her,” says Guy, with the calmness of despair. But his calmness does not deceive his companion.

”Very good. The Park, I am told, is even larger than Chetwoode. You, as her guardian, should, I think, put carefully before her all the advantages to be derived from such a marriage.”

Here she smooths out her parrot, and, turning her head slightly to one side, wonders whether a little more crimson in the wings would not make them look more attractive. No, perhaps not: they are gaudy enough already,--though one often sees--a parrot--with----

”I don't believe mere money would have weight with Lilian,” Guy breaks in upon her all-important reverie, with a visible effort.

”No? Perhaps not. But then the Park is her old home, and she, who professes such childish adoration for it, might possibly like to regain it. You really should speak to her, Guy. She should not be allowed to throw away such a brilliant chance, when a few well-chosen words might bias her in the right direction.”

Guy makes no reply, but, stepping on to the balcony outside, walks listlessly away, his heart in a tumult of fear and regret, while Miss Beauchamp, calmly, and with a certain triumph, goes on contentedly with her work. A nail in Lilian's coffin has, she hopes, been driven, and sews her hopes into the canvas beneath her hand, as long ago the Parisian women knitted their terrible revenge and cruel longings into their children's socks, whilst all the flower and beauty and chivalry of France fell beneath the fatal guillotine.

Guy, wandering aimlessly, full of dismal thought, follows out mechanically his first idea, and turns in the direction of the garden, the spot so beloved by his false, treacherous little mistress.

In the distance he sees her; she is standing motionless in the centre of a gra.s.splot, while behind her Chesney is busily engaged tying back her yellow hair with a broad piece of black ribbon she has evidently given him for the purpose. He has all her rich tresses gathered together in one, and is lingering palpably over his task. In his coat is placed conspicuously the blue forget-me-not begged of Guy by Lilian only a few minutes ago as though her heart were set upon its possession.

”Coquette,” mutters Chetwoode between his teeth.

”Not done yet?” asks the coquette at this moment of her cousin, giving her head a little impatient shake.

”Yes, just done,” finis.h.i.+ng up in a hurry the somewhat curious bow he is making.

”Well, now run,” says Lilian, ”and do as I bade you. I shall be here on this spot when you return. You know how I hate waiting: so don't be long,--do you hear?”

”Does that mean you will be impatient to see me again?”

”Of course,” laughing. ”I shall be _dying_ to see you again, longing, pining for your return, thinking every minute an hour until you come back to me.”

Thus encouraged, Archibald quickly vanishes, and Guy comes slowly up to her.

”I think you needn't have put that flower in Chesney's coat,” he says, in an aggrieved tone. ”I had no idea you meant it for his adornment.”

”Is it in his coat?” As she makes this mean reply she blushes a rich warm crimson, so full of consciousness that it drives Guy absolutely wild with jealousy. ”Yes, now I remember,” she says, with an a.s.sumption of indifference; ”he either took it from me, or asked me for it, I quite forget which.”

”Do you?”