"Have you met Mrs. Arlington? You never mentioned it, Cyril," says Lady Chetwoode.
"Oh, yes," says Miss Beauchamp, "he is quite intimate there: aren't you, Cyril? As I was passing The Cottage to-day in a desperate plight, I met Cyril coming out of the house."
"Not out of the house," corrects Cyril, calmly, having quite recovered his self-possession; "out of the garden."
"Was it? You were so enviably dry, in spite of the rain, I quite thought you had been in the house."
"For once your usually faultless judgment led you astray. I was in an arbor, where Mrs. Arlington kindly gave me shelter until the rain was over."
"Was Mrs. Arlington in the arbor too?"
"Yes."
"How very romantic! I suppose it was she gave you the lovely yellow rose you were regarding so affectionately?" says Miss Beauchamp, with a low laugh.
"I always think, Florence, what a fortune you would have made at the bar," says Cyril, thoughtfully; "your cross-examinations would have had the effect of turning your witnesses gray. I am utterly convinced you would have ended your days on the woolsack. It is a pity to see so much native talent absolutely wasted."