"Open the door, O hermit, and let a poor wanderer in," croons this fairy, in properly saddened tones.
Rising gladly, he throws wide the window to her, whereupon she steps into the room, still with her face hidden.
"You come?" asks he, in a deferential tone.
"To know what you are doing, and what can keep you in-doors this exquisite day. Do you remember how late in the season it is? and that you are slighting Nature? She will be angry, and will visit you with storms and drooping flowers, if you persist in flouting her. Come out. Come out."
"Who are you?" asks Guy. "Are you Flora?" He parts her hair gently and throws it back over her shoulders. "I thought you a nymph,—a fairy,—a small goddess, and——"
"And behold it is only Lilian! Naughty Lilian! Are you disappointed, Sir Guardian?" She laughs, and running her fingers through all her amber locks, spreading them out on either side of her like a silken veil, that extends as far as her arms can reach. She is lovely, radiant, bright as the day itself, fairer than the lazy flowers.
"What a child you are!" says Guy, with some discontent in his voice, feeling how far, far younger than he she is.
"Am I? Nonsense! Nurse says," going to a glass and surveying herself with critical eyes, "nurse says I am a 'very well grown girl of my age.'" Almost unconsciously she assumes nurse's pompous though adoring manner to such perfection that Guy laughs heartily.
"That is right, Guardy," says Miss Lilian, with bland encouragement. "I like to hear you laugh; of late you have grown almost as discontented to look at as my cousin. Have I amused you?"
"Yes; your assumption of Mrs. Tipping was admirable. Though I am not sure that I agree with her: you are not very much grown, are you? I don't think you are up to my shoulder."