"Tired of you? No! But I cannot help seeing that the fact of my being your guardian makes me abhorrent to you."
"Not quite that," says Miss Chesney, in a little soft, repentant tone. "What a curious idea to get into your head? dismiss it; there is really no reason why it should remain."
"You are sure?" with rather more earnestness than the occasion demands.
"Quite sure. And now tell me how it was I never saw you until now, since I was two years old."
"Well, for one thing, your mother died; then I went to Eton, to Cambridge, got a commission in the Dragoons, tired of it, sold out, and am now as you see me."
"What an eventful history!" says Lilian, laughing.
At this moment, who should come toward them, beneath the trees, but Cyril, walking as though for a wager.
"'Whither awa?'" asks Miss Lilian, gayly stopping him with outstretched hands.
"You have spoiled my quotation," says Cyril, reproachfully, "and it was on the very tip of my tongue. I call it disgraceful. I was going to say with fine effect, 'Where are you going, my pretty maid?' but I fear it would fall rather flat if I said it now."