Part 61 (2/2)
”No, was it?” says Cyril, with an affectation of intense astonishment; whereupon they all laugh.
”Talking of tea,” says Lady Chetwoode, ”I wonder where it is. Taffy, my dear, will you ring the bell?”
Tea is brought, tea is consumed; but still the rain rains on, and their spirits are at zero.
”I shall go out, 'hail, rain, or s.h.i.+ne,'” says Cyril, springing to his feet with sudden desperation.
”So shall I,” declares Guy, ”to the stables. Taffy, will you come with me?”
”As n.o.body wants me,” says Lilian, ”I shall make a point of wanting somebody. Archie, come and have a game of billiards with me before dinner.”
”My dear Guy, does it not still rain very hard?” protests Florence, anxiously.
”Very,” laughing.
”You will get wet,” with increasing anxiety, and a tender glance cleverly directed.
”Wet! he will get drenched,” exclaims Cyril; ”he will probably get his death of cold, and die of inflammation of the lungs. It is horrible to think of it! Guy, be warned; accept Florence's invitation to stay here with her, and be happy and dry. As sure as you are out to-day, you may prepare to shed this mortal coil.”
”Forgive me, Florence, I must go or suffocate,” says Guy, refusing to be warned, or to accept Miss Beauchamp's delicate hint: and together he and Musgrave sally forth to inspect the stables, while Lilian and Archibald retire to the billiard-room.
When they have played for some time, and Archibald has meanly allowed Lilian to win all the games under the mistaken impression that he is thereby cajoling her into staying with him longer than she otherwise might have done, she suddenly destroys the illusion by throwing down her cue impatiently, and saying, with a delicious little pout:
”I hate playing with people who know nothing about the game! there is no excitement in it. I remark when I play with you I always win. You're a regular m.u.f.f at billiards, Archie; that's what _you_ are.”
This is a severe blow to Archie's pride, who is a first-cla.s.s hand at billiards; but he grins and bears it.
”If you will give me a few more lessons,” he says, humbly, ”I dare say I shall improve.”
”No, I can't afford to waste my time, and you are too tiresome. Let us go into the drawing-room.”
”Rather let us stay here for a while,” he says, earnestly. ”They are all out, and I--I have something to say to you.”
During the last half-hour one of the men has come in and given the fire a poke and lit the lamps, so that the room looks quite seductive. Miss Chesney, glancing doubtfully round, acknowledges so much, and prepares to give in.
”I hope it is something pleasant,” she says, _apropos_ of Archie's last remark. ”You have been looking downright miserable for days. I hope sincerely, you are not going melancholy mad, but I have my doubts of it.
What is the matter with you, Archie? You used to be quite a charming companion, but now you are very much the reverse. Sometimes, when with you, your appearance is so dejected that if I smile I feel absolutely heartless. Do try to cheer up, there's a good boy.”
”A fellow can't be always simpering, especially when he is wretched,”
retorts he, moodily.
”Then don't be wretched. That is the very thing to which I object. You are the very last man in the world who ought to suffer from the blues.
Anything wrong with you?”
”Everything. I love a woman who doesn't care in the very least for me.”
<script>