"I have never been so unfortunate as to meet her," says Archibald, mildly, "but I would bet any money your Aunt Priscilla is a highly objectionable and interfering old maid."
"No, she is not: she is a very good woman, and quite an old dear in some ways."
"She is an old maid?" raising himself on his elbow with some show of interest.
"Well, yes, she is; but I like old maids," says Lilian, stoutly.
"Oh, she likes old maids," says Mr. Chesney, sotto voce, sinking back once more into his lounging position. He evidently considers there is nothing more to be said on that head. "And so she wouldn't let you stay?"
"No. You should have seen her face when I suggested writing to you to ask if I might have a suite of rooms for my own use, promising faithfully never to interfere with you in any way. It was a picture!"
"It pained you very much to leave the Park?"
"It was death to me. Remember, it had been my home all my life; every stick and stone about the place was dear to me."
"It was downright brutal, my turning you out," says Archibald, warmly: "I could hate myself when I think of it. But I knew nothing of it, and—I had not seen you then."
"If you had, would you have let me stay on?"