"You really mean it?" asks Archibald, delighted, his dark face lighting, while Guy, looking on helplessly, almost groans aloud. "You know how glad I shall be: I had no idea when I got up this morning such luck was in store for me. Dear Mrs. Boileau! if she could only guess how eager I am to start for her charming Grange!"
He says this in a laughing tone, but Chetwoode fully understands that, like the famous well, it has truth at the bottom of it.
"It grows late, does it not?" Florence says, rising gracefully. "I think we had better go in-doors. We have left Aunt Anne too long alone."
"Auntie is lying down. Her head is bad," says Lilian; "I was with her just before I came out, and she said she wished to be alone."
"Yes; she can't bear noise," remarks Florence, calmly, but meaningly. "I must go and see how she is." There is the faintest suspicion of an emphasis upon the personal pronoun.
"That will be very kind of you, dear," says Miss Chesney, suavely. "And Florence—would you like anything to rub your poor nose?—cold cream—or glycerine—or that; nurse has all those sorts of things, I'm sure." This is a small revenge of Lilian's, impossible to forego; while enjoying it, she puts on the tenderest air of sympathetic concern, and carefully regards Miss Beauchamp's nose with raised brows of solicitude.
"My nose?" repeats Florence, reddening.
"Yes, dear. One of those unkind little insects has bitten it shamefully, and now it is all pink and swollen. Didn't you know it? I have been feeling so sorry for you for the last ten minutes. It is too bad,—is it not? I hardly think it will be well before dinner, and it is so disfiguring." All this she utters in tones of the deepest commiseration.
Florence wisely makes no reply. She would have borne the tortures of the rack rather than exhibit any vehement temper before Guy; so she contents herself with casting a withering glance upon Lilian,—who receives it with the utmost sang-froid,—and, putting her handkerchief up to the wounded member, sweeps into the house full of righteous indignation.
Sir Guy, after lengthened hesitation, evidently makes up his mind to do something, and, with his face full of purpose, follows her. This devotion on his part is more than Lilian—in spite of her suspicions—has bargained for.