Leslie looks at him almost startled, then the color comes into her face, and her eyes brighten.
"It would be awfully good-natured of you if you would," he goes on, quickly, and as if he knew he was demanding a great sacrifice of her "awfully good nature."
"My father——." Leslie shakes her head. "I am afraid he would not go; he will want to paint if the day is fine."
"He can paint at St. Martin," he breaks in, eagerly. "There must be no end of sketches, studies, whatever you call it, there, you know. I wish you'd ask him! It would do my cousin so much good, and—and," the arch hypocrite falters as he meets the innocent, eagerly wistful eyes, "though I dare say you won't care for the dusty drive, and have seen quite enough of the place, still, you'd be doing a good action, don't you know, and—all that. It will cheer my cousin up sooner than anything."
"Very well," says Leslie. "I will ask my father. But it will not matter if we do not go. You must persuade Mr. Temple."
"Mr. ——. Oh, my cousin, yes," he says, with sudden embarrassment. "Yes, of course. Thank you! It is awfully good of you."
Leslie looks at him, her color deepening; then she laughs softly.
"Why, I want to go, too!" she says. "There is no goodness in it."
Yorke Auchester's glance falls before her guileless eyes.
"Then that settles it," he says, confidently. "What point is that out there, Miss Lisle?"