But somehow the impetus that urged him on half an hour ago is wanting; the spur to his industry has lost its sharpness; and presently, throwing down his pen with an impatient gesture, he acknowledges himself no longer in the mood for work.
What a child she is!—again the thought occurs to him;—yet with what power to torture! To-day all sweetness and honeyed gayety, to-morrow indifferent, if not actually repellent. She is an anomaly,—a little frail lily beset with thorns that puts forth its stings to wound, and probe, and madden, when least expected.
Only yesterday—after an hour's inward conflict—he had convinced himself of her love for her cousin Archibald, with such evident pleasure did she receive his very marked attentions. And now,—to-day,—surely if she loved Chesney her eyes could not have dwelt so kindly upon another as they did a few minutes since upon her guardian. With what a pretty grace she had demanded that blue forget-me-not and placed it in the bosom of her dress! With what evident sincerity she had hinted at her wish to see him in the garden when his work should be over! Perhaps—perhaps——
Of late a passionate desire to tell her of the affection with which she has inspired him consumes him daily,—hourly; but a fear, a sad certainty of disappointment to follow on his declaration has hitherto checked the words that so often tremble on his lips. Now the unwonted gentleness of her manner tempts him to follow her and put his fate "to the touch," and so end all the jealous anguish and heart-burnings that torment him all day long.
Quitting his sanctum, he crosses the hall, and enters the drawing-room, where he finds Florence alone.
She is, as usual, bending industriously over her crewel work; the parrot's tail is now in a high state of perfection, not a color in the rainbow being missing from it. Seeing Guy, she raises her head and smiles upon him sweetly, blandly, invitingly.
"Where is Lilian?" asks Guy, abruptly, with all the tactless truthfulness of a man when he has one absorbing object in view.
Miss Beauchamp's bland smile freezes on her lips, and shows itself no more. She makes answer, nevertheless, in an unmoved tone:
"Where she always is,—in the garden with her cousin, Mr. Chesney."