It is three o'clock, and the day for a wonder is fine, all the past week having been sullen and full of a desire to rain. Now the clouds have disappeared, and the blue sky dotted with tiny flakes of foam-like vapor is overhead. The air is crispy, and, though cold, full of life and invigorating power.
"I shall go for a walk," says Lilian, appearing suddenly in the billiard-room, looking like a little northern fairy, so encased is she in velvet and dark fur. Upon her yellow hair is resting the most coquettish of fur caps, from beneath which her face smiles fairer and fresher for its rich surroundings. The two men she addresses look up, and let the honest admiration they feel for her beauty betray itself in their eyes.
Outside of the window, seated on the sill, which is some little distance from the ground, is Archibald, smoking. Archibald, as a rule, is always smoking. Inside is Guy, also indulging in a cigar, and disputing volubly about some knotty point connected with guns or cartridges, or the proper size of shot to be used for particular birds, I cannot remember exactly what; I do remember, however, that the argument completely falls through when Lilian makes her appearance.
"Were there ever such lazy men?" says Miss Lilian, scornfully. "Did all the shooting with Tom Steyne last week do you up so completely? I warned you, if you will be pleased to recollect, that there wasn't much work in you. Well, I am going to the wood. Who will come with me?"
"I will," say Guy and Archibald, in a breath. And then ensues a pause.
"Embarras de richesses," says Miss Chesney, with a gay laugh and a slight elevation of her brows. "You shouldn't all speak at once. Now, which shall I choose?" Then, impelled by the spirit of mischief that always possesses her when in her guardian's presence, she says, "It would be a shame to take you out, Sir Guy, would it not? You seem so cozy here,"—glancing at the fire,—"while Archibald is evidently bent on exercise."
"As you please, of course," says Guy, with well-feigned indifference, too well feigned for Miss Chesney's liking; it angers her, and awakes within her a desire to show how little she heeds it. Her smile ripens and rests alone on Archibald, insensibly her manner toward her cousin takes a warmer tinge; going over to the window, she lays her hand lightly on his shoulder, and, leaning over, looks at the ground beneath.
"Could I get out there?" she asks, a little fearfully, though in truth at another time she would regard with disdain the person who should tell her she could not jump so small a distance. "It would be so much better than going all the way round."
"Of course you can," returns he, dropping instantly downward, and then looking up at her; "it is no height at all."
"It looks high from here, does it not?" still doubtful. "I should perhaps break my neck if I tried to jump it. No," regretfully, "I must go round, unless, indeed,"—with another soft glance meant for Guy's discomfiture, and that alas! does terrible damage to Archibald's heart,—"you think you could take me down."