"There is nothing to thank me for," she replied, looking confused.
"There is. And I wish you would give me one thing more for which to thank you," said Lionel, taking her hand. Her eyes dropped. She blushed, but did not free herself.
"And that is——?" she murmured.
"It would be a great happiness to see you and your sister reconciled."
She wrenched her hand away.
"Do not ask me that again," she replied, seeming both disappointed and pettish. "I have given you my answer already. Now, please, will you be kind enough to tell the prisoner I wish to see him. He can stop work and change. I will wait for him in my sitting-room up-stairs."
Lionel went in search of Tony. He found the latter pocketing his pipe, preparatory to a fresh attack upon the mound of earth. "Miss Arkwright says you can stop," said Lionel genially. "You may go and get clean; she wishes to see you."
"What about my work?" objected Tony. "You know, old friend—forgive me, but I seem to have known you for years—I am making quite a good job of that bed. Exegi monumentum ære perennius! What? That's about all I have left of a thousand-pound education. What I mean to say is that future generations may come and look at my flower bed as being the beau-ideal—the standard—the Super-bed, and so forth. Honestly, I'm beginning to be quite proud of the little chap—it's a most promising child. I say, between old schoolmates and that sort of jolly palaver, what does she want me for?"
"Haven't a notion, friend of my youth," said Lionel sympathetically. Knowing nothing of Tony, he felt nevertheless an attraction and a mutual bond. "You'd better do as she tells you."
The bed-builder arose.