There is not the very smallest emphasis on the word "your," yet somehow Cyril feels flattered.
"She is not offended," he says, against his conscience, and is glad to see his words please her. After a slight pause he goes on: "Although I am only a stranger to you, I cannot help feeling how bad it is for you to be so much alone. You are too young to be so isolated."
"I am happier so."
"What! you would care to see no one?"
"I would care to see no one," emphatically, but with a sigh.
"How dreadfully in the way you must have found me!" says Cyril, straightening himself preparatory to departure. "The rain, I see, is over." (It has been for the last ten minutes.) "I shall therefore restore you to happiness by taking myself away."
Mrs. Arlington smiles faintly.
"I don't seem to mind you much," she says, kindly, but with a certain amount of coldness. "Pray do not think I have wished you away."
"This is the first kind thing you have ever said to me," says Cyril, earnestly.
"Is it? I think I have forgotten how to make pretty speeches," replies she, calmly. "See, the sun is coming out again. I do not think, Mr. Chetwoode, you need be afraid any longer of getting wet."