“When will that be, I wonder?” and I stole a glance from under my lashes, wild to discover if Guy knew of the compact and was a willing party to it. His face was half averted, but over his dark cheek I saw a deep flush rise, as he answered, stooping to pull a bit of heather,—
“Soon, I hope, or the gentleman sleeping there below will be tempted to remain a fixture with you on his knee as ‘madame my wife.’ He is not your own uncle, you know.”
I smiled at the idea, but Guy did not see it; and seized with a whim to try my skill with the hawk that seemed inclined to peck at its master, I said demurely,—
“Well, why not? I might be very happy if I learned to love him, as I should, if he were always in that kindest mood of his. Would you like me for a little mamma, Guy?”
“No!” short and sharp as a pistol shot.
“Then you must marry and have a home of your own, my son.”
“Don’t, Sybil! I’d rather you didn’t see me in a rage, for I’m not a pleasant sight, I assure you; and I’m afraid I shall be in one if you go on. I early lost my mother, but I love her tenderly, because my father is not much to me, and I know if she had lived I should not be what I am.”
Bitter was his voice, moody his mien, and all the sunshine gone at once. I looked down and touched his black hair with a shy caress, feeling both penitent and pitiful.
“Dear Guy, forgive me if I pained you. I’m a thoughtless creature, but I’m not malicious, and a word will restrain me if kindly spoken. My home is always yours, and when my fortune is mine you shall never want, if you are not too proud to accept help from your own kin. You are a little proud, aren’t you?”
“As Lucifer, to most people. I think I should not be to you, for you understand me, Sybil, and with you I hope to grow a better man.”