"Guy," she says, rather tremulously, "you have never said one reproachful word to me about what happened the other night—in the library. I am thinking of it now. When I call to mind my wretched temper I feel frightened. Perhaps—perhaps—I shall not make you happy."
"I defy you to make me unhappy so long as you can tell me honestly you love me. Do not take advantage of it"—with a light laugh—"if I confess to you I would rather have a box on the ear from you than a kiss from any other woman. But such is the degrading truth. Nevertheless"—teasingly—"next time I would ask you, as a favor, not to do it quite so hard!"
"Ah, Guy," tearfully, and with a hot blush, "do not jest about it."
"How can I do anything else to-day?" Then, tenderly, "Still sad, my own? Take that little pucker off your brow. Do you imagine any act of yours could look badly in my eyes? 'You are my life—my love—my heart.' When I recollect how miserable I was yesterday, I can hardly believe in my happiness of to-day."
"Dearest," says Lilian, her voice faltering, "you are too good to me." Then, turning to him, of her own sweet will, she throws her arms around his neck, and lays her soft flushed cheek to his. "I shall never be bad to you again, Guy," she whispers; "believe that; never, never, never!"
* * * * * * *
Coming into the hall a little later, they encounter her ladyship's maid, and stop to speak to her.
"Is Lady Chetwoode's head better?" asks Lilian. "Can I see her, Hardy?"
"Yes, Miss Chesney. She is much better; she has had a little sleep, and has asked for you several times since she awoke. I could not find you anywhere."