“It is not that exactly,” said Lily, with a perplexed look in her ingenuous countenance, “and in my better moments, when the ‘bettermost self’ comes forth, I know that I am not made for the great world you speak of. But you see—” Here she paused again, and as they had now entered the garden, dropped wearily on a bench beside the path. Kenelm seated himself there too, waiting for her to finish her broken sentence.
“You see,” she continued, looking down embarrassed, and describing vague circles on the gravel with her fairy-like foot, “that at home, ever since I can remember, they have treated me as if—well, as if I were—what shall I say? the child of one of your great ladies. Even Lion, who is so noble, so grand, seemed to think when I was a mere infant that I was a little queen: once when I told a fib he did not scold me; but I never saw him look so sad and so angry as when he said, ‘Never again forget that you are a lady.’ And, but I tire you—”
“Tire me, indeed! go on.”
“No, I have said enough to explain why I have at times proud thoughts, and vain thoughts; and why, for instance, I said to myself, ‘Perhaps my place of right is among those fine ladies whom he—’ but it is all over now.” She rose hastily with a pretty laugh, and bounded towards Mrs. Cameron, who was walking slowly along the lawn with a book in her hand.
CHAPTER XII.
IT was a very merry party at the vicarage that evening. Lily had not been prepared to meet Kenelm there, and her face brightened wonderfully as at her entrance he turned from the book-shelves to which Mr. Emlyn was directing his attention. But instead of meeting his advance, she darted off to the lawn, where Clemmy and several other children greeted her with a joyous shout.
“Not acquainted with Macleane’s Juvenal?” said the reverend scholar; “you will be greatly pleased with it; here it is,—a posthumous work, edited by George Long. I can lend you Munro’s Lucretius, ‘69. Aha! we have some scholars yet to pit against the Germans.”
“I am heartily glad to hear it,” said Kenelm. “It will be a long time before they will ever wish to rival us in that game which Miss Clemmy is now forming on the lawn, and in which England has recently acquired a European reputation.”
“I don’t take you. What game?”