‘“No hurry” be hanged! Agree, like a good sister, to charm the Bishop.’
‘I must consider!’ she replied, with perturbed evasiveness.
It being a fine evening Louis went out of the house to enjoy his cigar in the shrubbery. On reaching his favourite seat he found he had left his cigar-case behind him; he immediately returned for it. When he approached the window by which he had emerged he saw Swithin St. Cleeve standing there in the dusk, talking to Viviette inside.
St. Cleeve’s back was towards Louis, but, whether at a signal from her or by accident, he quickly turned and recognized Glanville; whereupon raising his hat to Lady Constantine the young man passed along the terrace-walk and out by the churchyard door.
Louis rejoined his sister. ‘I didn’t know you allowed your lawn to be a public thoroughfare for the parish,’ he said.
‘I am not exclusive, especially since I have been so poor,’ replied she.
‘Then do you let everybody pass this way, or only that illustrious youth because he is so good-looking?’
‘I have no strict rule in the case. Mr. St. Cleeve is an acquaintance of mine, and he can certainly come here if he chooses.’ Her colour rose somewhat, and she spoke warmly.
Louis was too cautious a bird to reveal to her what had suddenly dawned upon his mind—that his sister, in common with the (to his thinking) unhappy Tabitha Lark, had been foolish enough to get interested in this phenomenon of the parish, this scientific Adonis. But he resolved to cure at once her tender feeling, if it existed, by letting out a secret which would inflame her dignity against the weakness.
‘A good-looking young man,’ he said, with his eyes where Swithin had vanished. ‘But not so good as he looks. In fact a regular young sinner.’