"I hope it will," she replies, calmly, studying her roses attentively, while the faintest suspicion of a smile grows and trembles at the corner of her mobile lips.
"You are her sister, perhaps?" asks Cyril, the extreme deference of his whole manner taking from the rudeness of his questioning.
"No—not her sister."
"Her friend?"
"Yes. Her dearest friend," replies Incognita, slowly, after a pause, and a closer, more prolonged examination of her roses; while again the curious half-suppressed smile lights up her face. There are few things prettier on a pretty face than an irrepressible smile.
"She is fortunate in possessing such a friend," says Cyril, softly; then with some haste, as though anxious to cover his last remark, "My brother did not see you when he called?"
"Did he say so?"
"No. He merely mentioned having seen only Mrs. Arlington. I do not think he is aware of your existence."
"I think he is. I have had the pleasure of speaking with Sir Guy."
"Indeed!" says Cyril, and instantly tells himself he would not have suspected Guy of so much slyness. "Probably it was some day since—you met him——"