The song dies upon her lips, an intense desire to be elsewhere gains upon her. The young man in gray, putting his meerschaum in his pocket as a concession to this unexpected warbler, advances leisurely; and Lilian, feeling vaguely conscious that the top of a wall, though exalted, is not the most dignified situation in the world, trusting to her activity, springs to the ground, and regains with mother earth her self-respect.
"How could you be so foolish? I do hope you are not hurt," says the gray young man, coming forward anxiously.
"Not in the least, thank you," smiling so adorably that he forgets to speak for a moment or two. Then he says with some hesitation, as though in doubt:
"Am I addressing my—ward?"
"How can I be sure," replies she, also in doubt, "until I know whether indeed you are my—guardian?"
"I am Guy Chetwoode," says he, laughing, and raising his hat.
"And I am Lilian Chesney," replies she, smiling in return, and making a pretty old-fashioned reverence.
"Then now I suppose we may shake hands without any breach of etiquette, and swear eternal friendship," extending his hand.
"I shall reserve my oath until later on," says Miss Chesney, demurely, but she gives him her hand nevertheless, with unmistakable bonhommie. "You are going home?" glancing up at him from under her broad-brimmed hat. "If so, I shall go with you, as I am a little tired."
"But this wall," says Guy, looking with considerable doubt upon the uncompromising barrier on the summit of which he had first seen her. "Had we not better go round?"