"This is Lilian Chesney whom I wrote to you about," Lady Chetwoode says, putting out one hand to Lilian. "Lilian, my dear, this is Florence."
The girls shake hands. Miss Beauchamp treats Lilian to a cold though perfectly polite stare, and then turns back to her aunt.
"It was a long journey, dear," sympathetically says "Aunt Anne."
"Very. I felt quite exhausted when I reached Truston, and so did Fanchette; did you not, ma bibiche, my treasure?"—this is to the little white stuffy ball of wool in her arms, which instantly opens two pink-lidded eyes, and puts out a crimson tongue, by way of answer. "If you don't mind, aunt, I think I should like to go to my room."
"Certainly, dear. And what shall I send you up?"
"A cup of tea, please, and—er—anything else there is. Elise will know what I fancy; I dined before I left. Good-night, Miss Chesney. Good-night, Guy; and thank you again very much for meeting me"—this very sweetly.
And then Lady Chetwoode accompanies her up-stairs, and the first wonderful interview is at an end.
"Well?" says Cyril.
"I think her quite handsome," says Lilian, enthusiastically, for Guy's special benefit, who is sitting at a little distance, glowering upon space. "Cyril, you are wanting in taste."
"Not when I admire you," replies Cyril, promptly. "Will you pardon me, Lilian, if I go to see they send a comfortable and substantial supper to my cousin? Her appetite is all that her best friend could wish."