Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were left to themselves.
"In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek refuge in cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, Lily. You never sing to me; come to the piano now."
But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near.
"Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently."
He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused him a favor.
"Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked.
Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the fair face flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped.
"How guilty you look," he said. "Is there any mystery on hand? Are you tired of me? Or is there to be another important consultation over the wedding dresses?"
"I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively. "Get the folio ready—I shall not be long."
Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish suspense, now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the benefit of his clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's.