"At The Cottage. Mr. Chetwoode brought you here."
"And you are Mrs. Arlington?" with a slight smile.
"Yes," smiling in return. "Kate, put a little water into that brandy, and give it to Miss Chesney."
"Please do not, Kate," says Lilian, in her pretty friendly fashion: "I hate brandy. If"—courteously—"I may have some sherry instead, I should like it."
Having drunk the sherry, she sits up and looks quietly around her.
The room is a little gem in its own way, and suggestive of refinement of taste and much delicacy in the art of coloring. Between the softly-tinted pictures that hang upon the walls, rare bits of Worcester and Wedgwood fight for mastery. Pretty lounging-chairs covered with blue satin are dispersed here and there, while cozy couches peep out from every recess. Bric-a-brac of all kinds covers the small velvet tables, that are hung with priceless lace that only half conceals the spindle legs beneath. Exquisite little marble Loves and Venuses and Graces smile and pose upon graceful brackets; upon a distant table two charming Dresden baskets are to be seen smothered in late flowers. All is bright, pretty, and artistic.
"What a charming room!" says Lilian, with involuntary, and therefore flattering admiration.
"You like it? I fear it must look insignificant to you after Chetwoode."
"On the contrary, it is a relief. There, everything is heavy though handsome, as is the way in all old houses; here, everything is bright and gay. I like it so much, and you too if you will let me say so," says Lilian, holding out her hand, feeling already enslaved by the beauty of the tender, lovely face looking so kindly into hers. "I have wanted to know you so long, but we knew"—hesitating—"you wished to be quiet."
"Yes, so I did when first I came here; but time and solitude have taught me many things. For instance,"—coloring faintly,—"I should be very glad to know you; I feel sadly stupid now and then."