"So be it. I give in. Though when I arrive here in the last stage of exhaustion, reclining in Miss Chesney's arms, you will be to blame," says Cyril, amiably. "But to return to your widow, Guy; who is to receive her?"
"I dare say by this time she has learned to take care of herself," laughing. "At all events, she does not weigh upon my conscience, even should I consent to oblige Trant,"—looking at his mother—"by having her at The Cottage as a tenant."
"It looks very suspicious, her being turned out of her last place," Cyril says, in an uncomfortable tone. "Perhaps——" Here he pauses somewhat mysteriously.
"Perhaps what?" asks his mother, struck by his manner.
"Perhaps she is mad," suggests Cyril, in an awesome whisper. "An escaped lunatic!—a maniac!"
"I know no one who borders so much on lunacy as yourself," says Guy. "After all, what does it matter whether our tenant is fat, fair, and forty, or a lean old maid! It will oblige Trant, and it will keep the place together. Mother, tell me to say yes."
Thus desired, Lady Chetwoode gives the required permission.
"A new tenant at The Cottage and a young lady visitor,—a permanent visitor! It only requires some one to leave us a legacy in the shape of a new-born babe, to make up the sum of our calamities," says Cyril, as he steps out of the low French window and drops on to the sward beneath.