“You were amused by my little girl’s enthusiasm! I saw her growing hot and eager, and had a strong suspicion that you were leading her on! She is a most fervent young person, and cannot understand being less than in deadly earnest over any question.”
“She is er—refreshingly young!” replied Gervase in his soft, drawling voice. He took no notice of the charge made against himself, but went on peeling his fruit with an air of pensive exhaustion, at which the two elder men exchanged glances of amusement. He looked at once so young, so healthy, and so prosperous, that this affectation of depression had somewhat of a ludicrous air to men who knew the world and had acquaintance with real and pressing anxieties. Ned Talbot looked across the table at the handsome youngster, and heaved a sigh to the memory of the good old days when he also was happy enough to invent troubles, and philosophise darkly concerning unknown woes. He had come south with a heart heavy with care, yet with an expectation of comfort which had taken away half the sting, but that hope had been doomed to disappointment, and on the morrow he must return to his work with an added fear in his heart. Could it be that he had been mistaken in Lilias? As a man eating a soft bloomy peach jars his teeth suddenly against its stone, so had Ned found himself confronted with a hardness in his fiancée’s nature which had brought with it a shock of disillusionment. Surely, surely, if a girl were ever to be sweet and sympathetic to the man whom she had promised to marry, it was when he was threatened by misfortune; but Lilias evidently refused to believe in his version of affairs, and cherished a grudging conviction that he was sacrificing her to romantic scruples. He had talked, and pleaded, and reasoned—it was like hitting one’s self against a wall. She never swerved from her position, her voice never lost its tone of studied toleration; and now he sat, the poor fellow! listening dreamily to the conversation between the other two men, too weary and depressed to take any active share in it himself.
When a movement was made towards the drawing-room half an hour later, however, Lilias was discovered leaning against the lintel of the window, looking so young, so sweet and fragile, that every chivalrous instinct rose up in her defence. Such a girl was not made to endure hardships, Ned reflected tenderly. The man who was lucky enough to own her should be prepared to carry all burdens on his own shoulders. He was ready! Oh yes; if Lilias would but love him faithfully, he would work for her with the strength of twenty men. He was eager to tell her so, to apologise for his harshness of the afternoon; and, stepping past into the garden, he caught her hand in his, and tried to draw her away.
“Come, dear, come! Let us walk round the garden. I want to speak to you alone.”
Lilias laughed, gave a caressing little squeeze to his hand, but stood firmly in her position. Gervase Vanburgh and her father were approaching, and a general conversation seemed at the moment more interesting than a tête-à-tête with her lover. So far she had had little opportunity of speaking to the stranger, and his appearance both interested and perplexed her. The air of languid elegance which provoked Nan, filled her sister with admiration, yet there was something baffling in the expression of the sleepy eyes. Lilias had an uncomfortable impression that those eyes might be very keen on occasions, and would have suspected a quizzical expression at the present moment, had the idea not been so palpably absurd. Why should Gervase find anything amusing in her attitude? It was surely a most natural thing that she, as the eldest daughter at home, should wait for the gentlemen, while her sisters went out into the garden, and, that being so, where should she stand, if not by the window? Nevertheless, the slow, quiet smile which followed his glance around, sent the blood into her cheeks, and seemed to intimate that he was as well aware as herself of the appropriateness of the background, and the care which had devised that seemingly careless pose! So disconcerted was she that she would have been inclined to retire in Ned’s company had he pressed his request a second time, but he was silenced by the first refusal, and the little group stood together exchanging commonplaces, until a white dress appeared among the rose-bushes, and Nan’s voice called out an unabashed summons—
“I thought you were never coming! Why don’t you come out? It’s perfectly lovely here. The roses smell so delicious in the dusk; and oh, father, there are two whole flowers on the little pink-belled saxifrage you brought home from Norway!”
“No!” cried Mr Rendell in tones of incredulous ecstasy, which stamped him on the spot as one of the noble army of gardeners. He hurried forward to inspect the new treasures, while Nan went down on her knees to hold up their tiny heads and expatiate on their fragile beauty. When she arose five minutes later, she found two surprises awaiting her, the first being the presence of Mr Vanburgh by her side, and the second, alas! two large green stains on her white skirt, in the middle of the front seam, where she had knelt on the dewy grass. Her face of dismay as she pointed downwards evoked a laugh from the two men, but Mr Rendell checked himself, glanced over his shoulder towards where his wife paced to and fro, and said quickly—
“Better run upstairs, dear, and change it. No need to be distressed; you have plenty more, I suppose, and it will wash.”
Nan groaned in a sepulchral fashion, and shook her head.
“You don’t understand! It’s an evening skirt with trimmings, not an ordinary piqué. My very best too! I put it on because Mr Vanburgh was coming, and now it’s spoilt!”