Part 48 (1/2)
”I think you are a very cruel little girl,” says Mrs. Steyne, gently, not looking at Lilian, and then turns the conversation in another channel.
”You will stay in the country until after Christmas?” says Lilian, somewhat hastily.
”Yes; something has gone wrong with our steward's accounts, and Tom is dissatisfied with him. So he has been dismissed, and we shall stay on here until we please ourselves with another.”
”I am glad you live so near. Three miles is only a walk, after all.”
”In good weather a mere nothing, though for my own part I am not addicted to exercise of any sort: I believe, however, Steynemore's proximity to Chetwoode was one of my chief reasons for marrying Tom.”
”I am glad of any reason that made you do so. If you won't mind my saying it, I will tell you I like you very much,”--with a slight blush.
”I am very charmed to hear it,” says Mrs. Steyne, heartily, whose liking for Lilian has grown steadily: ”I should be very much disappointed if you didn't. I foresee we shall be great friends, and that you and auntie will make me fall quite in love with Tom's native soil.
But”--naively--”you must not be unkind to poor Guy.”
CHAPTER XX.
”_Orl._--Is't possible that on so little acquaintance You should like her? that, but seeing, You should love her?”--_As You Like It._
Four weeks have flown by swiftly, with ungracious haste,--as do all our happiest moments,--leaving their mark behind them. In their train Taffy has pa.s.sed away from Chetwoode, and all in the house have mourned his departure openly and sincerely. Miss Chesney for two whole days was inconsolable, and cried her pretty eyes very nearly out; after which she recovered, and allowed herself to find consolation in the thought that he has promised to return to them for a fortnight at Christmas-tide.
”Summer was dead, and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold.”
The men spend half their days wondering if it will be a good hunting-season, the women are wrapt in delicious dreams of fur and velvet.
At The Cottage all the roses have fluttered into their graves, but in their place a sweet flower has bloomed. Cecilia's eyes have grown brighter, gladder, her step firmer, her cheek richer in the tint that rivals the peach. In her calm home she has but one thought, one hope, and that is Cyril. She has forbidden him to mention their engagement to Lady Chetwoode, so as yet the sweet secret is all their own.
Florence has gained a _bona fide_ admirer, Mr. Boer--after much deliberation--having, for private reasons, decided in favor of Miss Beauchamp and her fifteen thousand pounds. But not for Mr. Boer, however well connected, or however fondly cherished by a rich and aged uncle, can Miss Beauchamp bring herself to resign all hope of Guy and Chetwoode.
At Steynemore, Mabel and her baby are laughing the happy hours away; though, to speak more accurately, it is at Chetwoode most of them are spent. At least every second week they drive over there, to find their rooms ready, and stay on well content to talk and crow at ”auntie,”
until the handsome head of that dearest of old ladies is fairly turned.
Lilian has of course gone over heart and mind to Miss Steyne, who rewards her affection by practicing upon her the most ingenious tortures. With a craftiness terrible in one so young, she bides her opportunity and then pulls down all her friend's golden hair; at other times she makes frantic efforts at gouging out her eyes, tries to cut her eye-teeth upon her slender fingers, and otherwise does all in her power to tear her limb from limb. She also appears to find infinite amus.e.m.e.nt in scrambling up and down Miss Chesney's unhappy knees, to the detriment of that dainty lady's very dainty gowns, and shows symptoms of fight when she refuses to consume all such uninviting remnants of cake and bonbons as lie heavy on her hands.
Altogether Lilian has a lively time of it with Mabel's heiress, who, nevertheless, by right of her sweet witcheries and tender baby tricks, has gained a fast hold upon her heart.
But if Baby knows a slave in Lilian, Lilian knows a slave in some one else. Up to this Archibald has found it impossible to tear himself away from her loved presence; though ever since that fatal day at the Grange he has never dared speak openly to her of his attachment. Day by day his pa.s.sion has grown stronger, although with every wind her manner toward him seems to vary,--now kind, to-morrow cold, anon so full of treacherous fancies and disdainful glances as to make him wonder whether in truth it is hatred and not love for her that fills his heart to overflowing. She is
”One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt A lover with caprices soft and dear, That like to make a quarrel, when they can't Find one, each day of the delightful year; Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow, And--what is worst of all--won't let you go.”
Between her and Guy a silent truce has been signed. They now converse with apparent geniality; at times they appear, to outsiders, even to affect each other's society; but secretly they still regard each other with distrust, and to them alone is known the frailty of the coating that lies over their late hostility.
It is three o'clock, and the day for a wonder is fine, all the past week having been sullen and full of a desire to rain. Now the clouds have disappeared, and the blue sky dotted with tiny flakes of foam-like vapor is overhead. The air is crispy, and, though cold, full of life and invigorating power.
”I shall go for a walk,” says Lilian, appearing suddenly in the billiard-room, looking like a little northern fairy, so encased is she in velvet and dark fur. Upon her yellow hair is resting the most coquettish of fur caps, from beneath which her face smiles fairer and fresher for its rich surroundings. The two men she addresses look up, and let the honest admiration they feel for her beauty betray itself in their eyes.