"My own, my dearest, is there no pity in your kind heart for me?"
At this most unlucky moment Sir Guy lays his hand upon the door, and pushing it lightly open, enters. Five minutes later all the world might have entered freely, but just now the entrance of this one man causes unutterable pain.
Archibald has barely time to scramble to his feet; the tears are still wet on Lilian's cheeks; altogether it is an unmistakable situation, and Guy turns cold and pale as he recognizes it as such. Chesney on his knees, with Lilian's hands imprisoned in his own; Lilian in tears,—what can it mean but a violent love scene? Probably they have been quarreling, and have just made it up again. "The falling out of faithful friends, but the renewal is of love."
As he meets Lilian's shamed eyes, and marks the rich warm crimson that has mantled in her cheeks, Chetwoode would have beaten a precipitous retreat, but is prevented by Taffy's following on his heels somewhat noisily.
"It is a charming night, Lil," says that young man, with his usual bonhommie. "The rain is a thing of the past. We shall have our run after all to-morrow."
"Indeed! I am glad of that," replies Lilian, half indifferently; though being the woman of the party, she is of course the quickest to recover self-possession. "I should have died of despair had the morning proved unkind."
"Well, you needn't die for a while. I say, Lil," says Mr. Musgrave, regarding her curiously, "what's the matter with you, eh? You look awfully down in the mouth. Anything wrong?"
"Nothing," sharply: "what should be?"
"Can't say, I'm sure. But your cheeks," persists this miserable boy, "are as red as fire."