Thus encouraged, Archibald quickly vanishes, and Guy comes slowly up to her.
"I think you needn't have put that flower in Chesney's coat," he says, in an aggrieved tone. "I had no idea you meant it for his adornment."
"Is it in his coat?" As she makes this mean reply she blushes a rich warm crimson, so full of consciousness that it drives Guy absolutely wild with jealousy. "Yes, now I remember," she says, with an assumption of indifference; "he either took it from me, or asked me for it, I quite forget which."
"Do you?"
"I do," resenting his manner, which borders on disbelief, and is in her eyes highly objectionable. "Why should I trouble myself to recollect such trifles?"
After a pause, and with a distinct effort, Chetwoode says:
"You were foolishly prejudiced against your cousin before his arrival. I am glad you have learned to be civil to him."
"More than that, I have learned to like him very much indeed. He is quite charming, and not in the least exigeant, or difficile," this rather pronounced. "Besides, he is my cousin, and the master of my old home. Whenever I think of the dear Park I naturally think of him, until now they are both associated in my mind: this adds to my liking."
Guy's heart sinks within him as he remembers Florence's words and now hears Lilian's own confession. He glances at her despairingly. She is picking a flower to pieces, and as she does so a little soft sigh escapes her. Is it for her lost home? Is she already dreaming of an hour when she may return to it once more as its happy mistress? Is she mercenary, as Florence hinted? or is it homesickness that is tempting her? or can it be that at heart she loves this cousin?
"It is the same with all women," he says bitterly; "the last comer is always the best, the newest face the dearest."