"I see!" and Maryllia lifted her little head with an unconscious gesture, implying pride, or disdain, or both, as she passed with the other guests into the Badsworth Hall drawing-room; "The country is so delightful at this time of year!"
She moved on. Lord Roxmouth stroked down his fair moustache to hide a smile, and quietly followed her. He was a good-looking man, tall and well-built, with a rather pale, clean-cut face, and sandy hair brushed very smooth; form and respectability were expressed in the very outline of his figure and the fastidious neatness and nicety of his clothes. Entering the room where Miss Tabitha Pippitt was solemnly presiding over the tea-tray with a touch-me-not air of inflexible propriety, he soon made himself the useful and agreeable centre of a group of ladies, to whom he carried cake, bread-and- butter and other light refreshments, with punctilious care, looking as though his life depended upon the exact performance of these duties. Once or twice he glanced at Maryllia, and decided that she appeared younger and prettier than when he had seen her in town. She was chatting with some of the country people, and Lord Roxmouth waited for several moments in vain for an opportunity to intervene. Finally, securing a cup of iced coffee, he carried it to her.
"No, thanks!" she said, as he approached.
"Strawberries?" he suggested, appealingly.
"Nothing, thank you!"
Smiling a little, he looked at her.
"I wish you would give me a word, Miss Vancourt! Won't you?"
"A dozen, if you like!"—she replied, indifferently—"How is Aunt
Emily?"
"I am glad you ask after her!"—he said, impressively—"She is well,—but she misses you very much." He paused, and added in a lower tone—"So do I!"
She was silent.