"I should," replies Mr. Chetwoode, with alacrity, "if you think there will be room for two."
There is room for two, but undoubtedly not for three.
The little green bower is pretty but small, and there is only one seat.
"It is extremely kind of you to give me standing-room," says Cyril, politely.
"I am very sorry I cannot give you sitting-room," replies Mrs. Arlington, quite as politely, after which conversation languishes.
Cyril looks at Mrs. Arlington; Mrs. Arlington looks at Marshal Neil, and apparently finds something singularly attractive in his appearance. She even raises him to her lips once or twice in a fit of abstraction: whereupon Cyril thinks that, were he a marshal ten times over, too much honor has been done him.
Presently Mrs. Arlington breaks the silence.
"A little while ago," she says, "I saw your brother and a young lady pass my gate. She seemed very pretty."
"She is very pretty," says Cyril, with a singular want of judgment in so wise a young man. "It must have been Lilian Chesney, my brother's ward."
"He is rather young to have a ward."