"Oh, no dislike," says Guy, the more hastily in that he feels there is some truth in the accusation. "I don't quite trust her: that is all."
"Still, take me near The Cottage; do, now, Guardy," says Miss Chesney, softly, turning two exquisite appealing blue eyes upon him, which of course settles the question. They instantly turn and take the direction that leads to The Cottage.
But their effort to see the mysterious widow is not crowned with success. To Miss Chesney's sorrow and Sir Guy's secret joy, the house appears as silent and devoid of life as though, indeed, it had never been inhabited. With many a backward glance and many a wistful look, Lilian goes by, while Guy carefully suppresses all expressions of satisfaction and trudges on silently beside her.
"She must be out," says Lilian, after a lengthened pause.
"She must be always out," says Guy, "because she is never to be seen."
"You must have come here a great many times to find that out," says Miss Chesney, captiously, which remark puts a stop to all conversation for some time.
And indeed luck is dead against Lilian, for no sooner has she passed out of sight than Mrs. Arlington steps from her door, and, armed with a book and a parasol, makes for the small and shady arbor situated at the end of the garden.
But if Lilian's luck has deserted her, Cyril's has not. He has walked down here this evening in a rather desponding mood, having made the same journey vainly for the last three days, and now—just as he has reached despair—finds himself in Mrs. Arlington's presence.
"Good-evening," he says, gayly, feeling rather elated at his good fortune, raising his hat.
"Good-evening," returns she, with a faint blush born of a vivid recollection of all that passed at their last meeting.