Airy Fairy Lilian. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ and it emanated from you. Supposing I were to remain here, and he did fall in love with me, and married me: what then? Would not that solve the difficulty? Once the ceremony was performed he might go prying about all over the known globe for all that I should care. I should have my dear Park. I declare," says Lilian, waxing valiant, "had he but one eye, or did he appear before me with a wooden leg (which I hold to be the most contemptible of all things), nothing should induce me to refuse him under the circumstances."

      "And are you going to throw yourself upon your cousin's generosity and actually ask him to take pity on you and make you his wife? Lilian, I fancied you had some pride," says Miss Chesney, gravely.

      "So I have," says Lilian, with a repentant sigh. "How I wish I hadn't! No, I suppose it wouldn't do to marry him in that way, no matter how badly I treated him afterward to make up for it. Well, my last hope is dead."

      "And a good thing too. Now, had you not better sit down and write to Lady Chetwoode or your guardian, naming an early date for going to them? Though what your father could have meant by selecting so young a man as a guardian is more than I can imagine."

      "Because he wished me to live with Lady Chetwoode, who was evidently an old flame; and because Sir Guy, from all I hear, is a sort of Admirable Crichton – something as prosy as the Heir of Redclyffe, as dull as Sir Galahad. A goody-goody old-young man. For my part, I would have preferred a hoary-headed gentleman, with just a little spice of wickedness about him."

      "Lilian, don't be flippant," in a tone of horror. "I tremble when I reflect on the dangers that must attend your unbridled tongue."

      "Well, but, Aunt Priscilla," – plaintively, – "one doesn't relish the thought of spending day after day with a man who will think it his duty to find fault every time I give way to my sentiments, and probably grow pale with disgust whenever I laugh aloud. Shan't I lead him a life!" says the younger Miss Chesney, viciously, tapping the back of one small hand vigorously against the palm of the other. "With the hope of giving that young man something to cavil at, I shall sustain myself."

      "Child," says Miss Priscilla, "let me recommend a course of severe study to you as the best means of subduing your evil inclinations."

      "I shall take your advice," says the incorrigible Lilian; "I shall study Sir Guy. I expect that will be the severest course of study I have ever undergone."

      "Get your paper and write," says Miss Priscilla, who, against her will, is smiling grimly.

      "I suppose, indeed, I must," says Lilian, seating herself at her davenport with all the airs of a finished martyr. "'Needs must,' you know, Aunt Priscilla. I dare say you recollect the rest of that rather vulgar proverb. I shall seal my fate this instant by writing to Lady Chetwoode. But, oh!" turning on her chair to regard her aunt with an expression of the keenest reproach, "how I wish you had not called them a 'well-regulated family!'"

      CHAPTER II

      "Be not over-exquisite

      To cast the fashion of uncertain evils." – Milton.

      Through the open windows the merry-making sun is again dancing, its bright rays making still more dazzling the glory of the snowy table-cloth. The great silver urn is hissing and fighting with all around, as though warning his mistress to use him, as he is not one to be trifled with; while at the lower end of the table, exactly opposite Sir Guy's plate, lies the post upon a high salver, ready to the master's hand, as has been the custom at Chetwoode for generations.

      Evidently the family is late for breakfast. As a rule, the Chetwoode family always is late for breakfast, – just sufficiently so to make them certain everything will be quite ready by the time they get down.

      Ten o'clock rings out mysteriously from the handsome marble clock upon the chimney-piece, and precisely three minutes afterward the door is thrown open to admit an elderly lady, tall and fair, and still beautiful.

      She walks with a slow, rather stately step, and in spite of her years carries her head high. Upon this head rests the daintiest of morning caps, all white lace and delicate ribbon bows, that match in color her trailing gown. Her hands, small and tapering, are covered with rings; otherwise she wears no adornment of any kind. There is a benignity about her that goes straight to all hearts. Children adore her, dogs fawn upon her, young men bring to her all their troubles, – the evil behavior of their tailors and their mistresses are alike laid before her.

      Now, finding the room empty, and knowing it to be four minutes after ten, she says to herself, "The first!" with a little surprise and much pardonable pride, and seats herself with something of an air before the militant urn. When we are old it is so sweet to us to be younger than the young, when we are young it is so sweet to us to be just vice versa. Oh, foolish youth!

      An elderly butler, who has evidently seen service (in every sense of the word), and who is actually steeped in respectability up to his port-wine nose, hovers around the breakfast, adjusting this dish affectionately, and straightening that, until all is carefully awry, when he leaves the room with a sigh of satisfaction.

      Perhaps Lady Chetwoode's self-admiration would have grown beyond bounds, but that just at this instant voices in the hall distract her thoughts. The sounds make her face brighten and bring a smile to her lips. "The boys" are coming. She draws the teacups a little nearer to her and makes a gentle fuss over the spoons. A light laugh echoes through the hall; it is answered and then the door once more opens, and her two sons enter, Cyril, being the youngest, naturally coming first.

      On seeing his mother he is pleased to make a gesture indicative of the most exaggerated surprise.

      "Now, who could have anticipated it?" he says. "Her gracious majesty already assembled, while her faithful subjects – Well," with a sudden change of tone, "for my part I call it downright shabby of people to scramble down-stairs before other people merely for the sake of putting them to the blush."

      "Lazy boy! no wonder you are ashamed of yourself when you look at the clock," says Lady Chetwoode, smiling fondly as she returns his greeting.

      "Ashamed! Pray do not misunderstand me. I have arrived at my twenty-sixth year without ever having mastered the meaning of that word. I flatter myself I am a degree beyond that."

      "Last night's headache quite gone, mother?" asks Sir Guy, bending over her chair to kiss her; an act he performs tenderly, and as though the doing of it is sweet to him.

      "Quite, my dear," replies she; and there is perhaps the faintest, the very faintest, accession of warmth in her tone, an almost imperceptible increase of kindliness in her smile as she speaks to her eldest son.

      "That's right," says he, patting her gently on the shoulder; after which he goes over to his own seat and takes up the letters lying before him.

      "Positively I never thought of the post," says Lady Chetwoode. "And here I have been for quite five minutes with nothing to do. I might as well have been digesting my correspondence, if there is any for me."

      "One letter for you; five, as usual, for Cyril; one for me," says Guy. "All Cyril's." Examining them critically at arm's length. "Written evidently by very young women."

      "Yes, they will write to me," returns Cyril, receiving them with a sigh and regarding them with careful scrutiny. "It is nothing short of disgusting," he says presently, singling out one of the letters with his first finger. "This is the fourth she has written me this week, and as yet it is only Friday. I won't be able to bear it much longer; I shall certainly make a stand one of these days."

      "I would if I were you," says Guy, laughing.

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