Part 66 (2/2)
”You are cynical to-day. But to return; the two to whom I allude have no poison to contend with. They love so well that it is misery to them to be apart,--so devotedly that they know no great joy except when they are together. Could such love cool? I am sure not. And is it not cruel to keep them asunder?”
Her voice has grown positively plaintive; she is evidently terribly in earnest.
”Are you speaking of yourself?” asks Guy, huskily, turning with sudden vehemence to lay his hand upon her arm and scan her features with intense, nay, feverish anxiety.
”Of myself?” recoiling. ”No! What can you mean? What is it that I should say of myself?” Her cheeks are burning, her eyes are shamed and perplexed, but they have not fallen before his: she is evidently full of secret wonder. ”It is for Cyril I plead, and for Cecilia,” she says, after a strange pause.
”Cyril!” exclaims he, the most excessive relief in tone and gesture.
”Does he want to marry Mrs. Arlington?”
”Yes. I know you have a prejudice against her,”--earnestly,--”but that is because you do not know her. She is the sweetest woman I ever met.”
”This has been going on for a long time?”
”I think so. Cyril wished to marry her long ago, but she would not listen to him without auntie's consent. Was not that good of her? If I was in her place, I do not believe I should wait for any one's consent.”
”I am sure”--dryly--”you would not.”
”No, not even for my guardian's,” replies she, provokingly; then, with a lapse into her former earnestness, ”I want you to be good to her. She is proud, prouder than auntie even, and would not forgive a slight. And if her engagement to Cyril came to an end, he would never be happy again.
Think of it.”
”I do,” thoughtfully. ”I think it is most unfortunate. And she a widow, too!”
”But such a widow!” enthusiastically. ”A perfect darling of a widow! I am not sure, after all,”--with rank hypocrisy,--”that widows are not to be preferred before mere silly foolish girls, who don't know their own minds half the time.”
”Is that a description of yourself?” with an irrepressible smile.
”Don't be rude! No 'mere silly girl' would dare to beard a stern guardian in his den as I am doing! But am I to plead in vain? Dear Sir Guy, do not be hard. What could be dearer than her refusing to marry Cyril if it should grieve auntie? 'She would not separate him from his mother,' she said. Surely you must admire her in that one instance at least. Think of it all again. They love each other, and they are unhappy; and you can turn their sorrow into joy.”
”Now they love, of course; but will it last? Cyril's habits are very expensive, and he has not much money. Do you ever think you may be promoting a marriage that by and by will prove a failure? The day may come when they will hate you for having helped to bring them together.”
”No,” says Lilian, stoutly, shaking her _blonde_ head emphatically; ”I have no such unhealthy thoughts or fancies. They suit each other; they are happy in each other's society; they will never repent their marriage.”
”Is that your experience?” he asks, half amused.
”I have no experience,” returns she, coloring and smiling: ”I am like the Miller of the Dee; I care for n.o.body, no, not I,--for n.o.body cares for me.”
”You forget your cousin.” The words escape him almost without his consent.
Miss Chesney starts perceptibly, but a second later answers his taunt with admirable composure.
”What? Archie? Oh! he don't count; cousins are privileged beings. Or did you perhaps mean Taffy? But answer me, Sir Guy: you have not yet said you will help me. And I am bent on making Cecilia happy. I am honestly fond of her; I cannot bear to see you think contemptuously of her; while I would gladly welcome her as a sister.”
”I do not see how her marrying Cyril can make her your sister,” replies he, idly; and then he remembers what he has said, and the same thought striking them both at the same moment, they let their eyes meet uneasily, and both blush scarlet.
Guy, sauntering to the window, takes an elaborate survey of the dismal landscape outside; Lilian coughs gently, and begins to count industriously all the embroidered lilies in the initial that graces the corner of her handkerchief. One--two--three----
”They might as well have put in four,” she says out loud, abstractedly.
<script>