"No, no, no, certainly not. I have no intention of marrying any one for years to come,—if ever. I think," with a charming pout, "it is very unkind of you to say such things to me,—and just when we were such good friends too; spoiling everything. I shall never be comfortable in your society again; I'm sure I never should have suspected you of such a thing. If I had——" A pause.
"You would not have come here with me to-day, you mean?" gloomily.
"Indeed I should not. Nothing would have induced me. You have put me out terribly."
"I suppose you like Chetwoode," says Archibald, still more gloomily. Having never been denied anything since his birth, he cannot bring himself to accept this crowning misfortune with becoming grace.
"I like everybody,—except Florence," returns Lilian, composedly.
Then there is another pause, rather longer than the first, and then—after a violent struggle with her better feelings—Miss Chesney gives way, and laughs long and heartily.
"My dear Archibald, don't look so woe-begone," she says. "If you could only see yourself! You look as though every relation you ever had was dead. Why, you ought to be very much obliged to me. Have you never heard Mr. Punch's advice to young men about to marry?"
"I don't want any one's advice; it is late for that, I fancy. Lilian—darling—darling—won't you——"
"I won't, indeed," recoiling and waving him back, while feeling for the first time slightly embarrassed; "don't come a step nearer; nobody ever made love to me before, and I perfectly hate it! I hope sincerely no one will ever propose to me again."
"I shall!" doggedly; "I shan't give you up yet. You have not thought about it. When you know me better you may change your mind."