She burst out laughing.
"Nonsense!" she cried. "Why, I actually believe you're becoming jealous."
"Not a bit of it," he said. "I'd trust you, little girl, through thick and thin."
"I know you would, Alvy, and I'd rather marry you—well, ten times, before I'd marry a lord or a bishop once."
"I know it, old girl, I know it!" cried Spotts ecstatically, and slipped his arm round her waist.
"Oh, do be careful," she protested. "Just think, if any one should see us! I'm sure I heard a footstep behind us."
They looked up, and saw Cecil above them, standing on the sill of an old ruined window.
He had not heard their words, but he had seen Spotts's embrace, and realised bitterly how little chance he stood against such a combination of Apollo and Roscius.
The month which had intervened since his return to Blanford had not been an altogether happy time for the Bishop's son. The pain of Miss Arminster's refusal still rankled within him, and that young lady's actions had not done much to soothe it. Had she comported herself with a resigned melancholy, he could have borne his own sufferings with fortitude. But, on the contrary, she had, he considered, flirted most outrageously with Mr. Spotts. Indeed Cecil was already strongly of the opinion that the actor was trying to succeed where he had failed—a course of action which he thought quite justifiable on his, Banborough's, part, but highly reprehensible on the part of any one else. Matters had now culminated. Fate had brought the three together at this inopportune moment, and as it was manifestly impossible not to say something, Cecil laid himself out to be agreeable, and Miss Arminster, who was naturally aware of the awkwardness of his position, did her best to promote conversation, while Spotts almost immediately cut the Gordian knot by excusing himself on the plea of looking after the lunch.
"Well," she said, "what's the latest news from Spain?"