Part 62 (2/2)

”It is small enough for my taste.”

”And sometimes, when the summer is very hot, my skin gets quite _freckled_,” with increasing warmth.

”I adore freckles. I think no woman perfect without them.”

”I don't believe you,” indignantly; ”and at all events I have a horrible temper, and I defy you to say you like _that_!” triumphantly.

”I do,” mournfully. ”The hardest part of my unfortunate case is this, that the unkinder you are to me the more I love you.”

”Then I won't have you love me,” says Miss Chesney, almost in tears: ”do you hear me? I forbid you to do it any more. It is extremely rude of you to keep on caring for me when you know I don't like it.”

”Look here, Lilian,” says Archie, taking both her hands, ”give me a little hope, a bare crumb to live on, and I will say no more.”

”I cannot, indeed,” deeply depressed.

”Why? Do you love any other fellow?”

”Certainly not,” with suspicious haste.

”Then I shall wait yet another while, and then ask you again.”

”Oh, don't!” exclaims Lilian, desperately: ”I _beg_ you won't. If I thought I was going to have these scenes all over again at intervals, it would kill me, and I should learn to hate you. I should, indeed; and then what would you do? Think of it.”

”I won't,” doggedly; ”I often heard 'Faint heart never won fair lady,'

and I shall take my chance. I shall never give you up, so long as you are not engaged to any other man.”

There is a pause. Lilian's blue eyes are full of tears that threaten every moment to overflow and run down her pale cheeks. She is desperately sorry for Archibald, the more so that her heart tells her she will never be able to give him the consolation that alone can do him any good. Seeing the expression of tender regret that softens her face, Archibald falls suddenly upon his knees before her, and, pressing his lips to her hands, murmurs, in deep agitation:

”My own, my dearest, is there no pity in your kind heart for me?”

At this most unlucky moment Sir Guy lays his hand upon the door, and pus.h.i.+ng it lightly open, enters. Five minutes later all the world might have entered freely, but just now the entrance of this one man causes unutterable pain.

Archibald has barely time to scramble to his feet; the tears are still wet on Lilian's cheeks; altogether it is an unmistakable situation, and Guy turns cold and pale as he recognizes it as such. Chesney on his knees, with Lilian's hands imprisoned in his own; Lilian in tears,--what can it mean but a violent love scene? Probably they have been quarreling, and have just made it up again. ”The falling out of faithful friends, but the renewal is of love.”

As he meets Lilian's shamed eyes, and marks the rich warm crimson that has mantled in her cheeks, Chetwoode would have beaten a precipitous retreat, but is prevented by Taffy's following on his heels somewhat noisily.

”It is a charming night, Lil,” says that young man, with his usual _bonhommie_. ”The rain is a thing of the past. We shall have our run after all to-morrow.”

”Indeed! I am glad of that,” replies Lilian, half indifferently; though being the woman of the party, she is of course the quickest to recover self-possession. ”I should have died of despair had the morning proved unkind.”

”Well, you needn't die for a while. I say, Lil,” says Mr. Musgrave, regarding her curiously, ”what's the matter with you, eh? You look awfully down in the mouth. Anything wrong?”

”Nothing,” sharply: ”what should be?”

”Can't say, I'm sure. But your cheeks,” persists this miserable boy, ”are as red as fire.”

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