Lover or Friend

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'Father is not like that,' she said tranquilly. 'We think the same on these matters; we are both of us very impulsive. I have some money of my own, you know—not much'—as Cyril's brow contracted a little—'but enough to be a real help. But do not let us talk about that; I have never cared for such things. If you had not a penny in the world you would be still yourself—Cyril Blake.'

Audrey looked so charming as she said this, that the cloud on Cyril's brow cleared like magic.

'And you do not think your father will be angry?'

'Angry! Why should he be angry?' opening her eyes widely. 'He may be disappointed—very probably he will be so; he may think I might have done better for myself. He may even argue the point a little. The great blessing is that one is not obliged to consult one's sister in such cases; for'—looking at him with her old fun—'I am afraid Gage would refuse her consent.'

'Yes; I am afraid both Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt will send me to Coventry.'

'To be sure they will; but I suppose even Coventry will be bearable under some circumstances. Oh dear!' interrupting herself, 'do you see how dark it is growing? We have actually forgotten the time. I must really be going.'

'I ought not to have kept you so long,' he returned remorsefully. 'There, you shall go! I will not detain you another moment. I think it will be better for you to go alone. I will stay here another half-hour; I could not speak to anyone just now. I must be alone and think over this wonderful thing that has happened.'

'Very well,' she replied. But some minutes elapsed before the last good-bye was said. There were things he had forgotten to say. More than once, as she turned away, he detained her with some parting request. When she had really gone, and the last sound of her footsteps died away, he went back into the dusky room, and threw himself down on the chair where she had sat, and abandoned himself to a delicious retrospect.

'And it is true—it is not a dream!' he said to himself when, an hour later, he roused himself to go back to the Gray Cottage. 'Oh, thank God that He has given me this priceless gift! If I could only be worthy of her!' finished the young man with tender reverence, as he crossed the courtyard and let himself in at the green door.

Mrs. Ross looked at her daughter rather anxiously that evening; she thought Audrey was rather quiet and a trifle subdued. Geraldine and her husband were dining at Woodcote. Audrey, who had forgotten they were expected, was rather taken aback when she saw her sister, and made her excuses a little hurriedly. She had been detained—all sorts of things had detained her. She had been to the Gray Cottage and the library. She had not walked far enough to tire herself—this being the literal fact, as not a quarter of a mile lay between Woodcote and the Cottage. Oh no, she was not the least tired, and she hoped Geraldine felt better.