Part 46 (1/2)
”He made himself very agreeable,” goes on Florence, in her soft monotone, that nothing disturbs. ”He was so conversational, and so well read. You liked him, Lilian?”
”Who? Mr. Boer? No; I thought him insufferable,--so dull,--so prosy,”
says Lilian, wearily. She has hardly heard Miss Beauchamp's foregoing remarks.
”His manner, certainly, is neither frivolous nor extravagant,” Florence returns, somewhat sharply, ”but he appeared sensible and earnest, rare qualities nowadays.”
”Did I hear you say he wasn't extravagant?” breaks in Cyril, lazily, purposely misconstruing her application of the word. ”My dear Florence, consider! Could anything show such reckless extravagance as the length of his coat-tails? I never saw so much superfluous cloth in any man's garment before. It may be saintly, but it was cruel waste!”
”How did you amuse yourselves?” asks Lady Chetwoode, hastily, forestalling a threatening argument.
”As best we might. Lilian and I amused each other, and I think we had the best of it. If our visit to the Grange did no other good, it at least awoke in me a thorough sense of loyalty: I cannot tell you,” with a glance at Lilian, ”how often I blessed the 'Prints of Wales' this night.”
”Oh, Cyril, what a miserable joke!” says Lilian, smiling, but there is little warmth in her smile, and little real merriment in her usually gay tones. All this, Cyril--who is sincerely fond of her--notes with regret and concern.
”Guy, give Lilian a gla.s.s of Moselle,” says his mother at this moment; ”it is what she prefers, and it will put a little color into her cheeks: she looks fatigued.” As she says this she moves across the room to speak to Florence, leaving Lilian standing alone upon the hearth-rug. Guy, as desired, brings the wine and hands it to Lilian.
”No, thank you,” turning from him coldly. ”I do not wish for it.”
”Nevertheless, take it,” Guy entreats, in a low voice: ”you are terribly white, and,” touching her hand gently, ”as cold as death. Is it because _I_ bring it you will not have it? Will you take it from Taffy?”
A choking sensation rises in Miss Chesney's throat; the unbidden tears spring to her eyes; it is by a pa.s.sionate effort alone she restrains them from running down her cheeks. As I have said before, the day had been a distinct failure. She will not speak to Guy, Archibald will not speak to her. A sense of isolation is oppressing and weighing her down.
She, the pet, the darling, is left lonely, while all the others round her laugh and jest and accept the good the G.o.ds provide. Like a spoilt child, she longs to rush to her nurse and have a good cry within the shelter of that fond woman's arms.
Afraid to speak, lest her voice betray her, afraid to raise her eyes, lest the tell-tale tears within them be seen, she silently--though against her will--takes the gla.s.s Sir Guy offers, and puts it to her lips, whereupon he is conscious of a feeling of thankfulness,--the bare fact of her accepting anything at his hands seeming to breathe upon him forgiveness.
Lilian, having finished her Moselle, returns him the gla.s.s silently.
Having carried it to the table, he once more glances instinctively to where he has left her standing. She has disappeared. Without a word to any one, she has slipped from the library and sought refuge in her own room.
CHAPTER XIX.
”This much, however, I may add; her years Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs; But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things.”--_Don Juan._
Next day creates but little change in Lilian's demeanor. So far as Guy is concerned, her manner is still frozen and unrelenting. She shows no sign of a desire to pardon, and Chetwoode noting this grows hardened, and out-Herods Herod in his imitation of her coldness.
Archibald, on the contrary, gives in almost directly. Finding it impossible to maintain his injured bearing beyond luncheon, he succ.u.mbs, and, throwing himself upon her mercy, is graciously received and once more basks in the full smiles of beauty. At heart Lilian is glad to welcome him back, and is genial and sweet to him as though no ugly _contretemps_ had occurred between them yesterday.
Mabel Steyne being expected in the evening, Lady Chetwoode is especially happy, and takes no heed of minor matters, or else her eldest son's distraction would surely have claimed her attention. But Mabel's coming is an event, and a happy one, and at half-past seven, pleased and complacent, Lady Chetwoode is seated in her drawing-room, awaiting her arrival. Lilian and Florence are with her, and one or two of the others, Guy among them. Indeed, Mrs. Steyne's coming is a gratification the more charming that it is a rarity, as she seldom visits the country, being strongly addicted to city pursuits and holding country life and ruralism generally in abhorrence.
Just before dinner she arrives; there is a little flutter in the hall, a few words, a few steps, and then the door is thrown open, and a young woman, tall, with dark eyes and hair, a nose slightly celestial, and a very handsome figure, enters. She walks swiftly up the room with the grand and upright carriage that belongs to her, and is followed by a tall, fair man, indolent though good to look at, with a straw-colored moustache, and as much whisker as one might swear by.
”Dear auntie, I have come!” says Mrs. Steyne, joyfully, which is a fact so obvious as to make the telling of it superfluous.
”Mabel, my dear, how glad I am to see you!” exclaims Lady Chetwoode, rising and holding out her arms to her. A pretty pink flush comes to life in the old woman's cheeks making her appear ten years younger, and adding a thousand charms to her sweet old face.
They kiss each other warmly, the younger woman with tender _empress.e.m.e.nt_.
”It is kind of you to say so,” she says, fondly. ”And you, auntie--why, bless me, how young you look! it is disgraceful. Presently I shall be the auntie, and you the young and lovely Lady Chetwoode. Darling auntie, I am delighted to be with you again!”