“You see,” she continued, looking down
embarrassed, and describing vague circles on the gravel
with her fairy-like foot, “that at home, ever
since I can remember, they have treated me as if—well,
as if I were—what shall I say? the child
of one of your great ladies. Even Lion, who
is so noble, so grand, seemed to think when I was a
mere infant that I was a little queen: once when
I told a fib he did not scold me; but I never saw
him look so sad and so angry as when he said, ‘Never
again forget that you are a lady.’ And,
but I tire you—”
“Tire me, indeed! go on.”
“No, I have said enough to explain why I have
at times proud thoughts, and vain thoughts; and why,
for instance, I said to myself, ’Perhaps my
place of right is among those fine ladies whom he—’
but it is all over now.” She rose hastily
with a pretty laugh, and bounded towards Mrs. Cameron,
who was walking slowly along the lawn with a book in
her hand.
IT was a very merry party at the vicarage that evening.
Lily had not been prepared to meet Kenelm there,
and her face brightened wonderfully as at her entrance
he turned from the book-shelves to which Mr. Emlyn
was directing his attention. But instead of meeting
his advance, she darted off to the lawn, where Clemmy
and several other children greeted her with a joyous
shout.
“Not acquainted with Macleane’s Juvenal?”
said the reverend scholar; “you will be greatly
pleased with it; here it is,—a posthumous
work, edited by George Long. I can lend you
Munro’s Lucretius, ’69. Aha! we
have some scholars yet to pit against the Germans.”
“I am heartily glad to hear it,” said
Kenelm. “It will be a long time before
they will ever wish to rival us in that game which
Miss Clemmy is now forming on the lawn, and in which
England has recently acquired a European reputation.”
“I don’t take you. What game?”
“Puss in the Corner. With your leave I
will look out and see whether it be a winning game
for puss—in the long-run.” Kenelm
joined the children, amidst whom Lily seemed not the
least childlike. Resisting all overtures from
Clemmy to join their play, he seated himself on a
sloping bank at a little distance,—an idle
looker-on. His eye followed Lily’s nimble
movements, his ear drank in the music of her joyous
laugh. Could that be the same girl whom he had
seen tending the flower-bed amid the gravestones?
Mrs. Emlyn came across the lawn and joined him, seating
herself also on the bank. Mrs. Emlyn was an
exceedingly clever woman: nevertheless she was
not formidable,—on the contrary, pleasing;
and though the ladies in the neighbourhood said ‘she
talked like a book,’ the easy gentleness of her
voice carried off that offence.
“I suppose, Mr. Chillingly,” said she,
“I ought to apologize for my husband’s
invitation to what must seem to you so frivolous an
entertainment as a child’s party. But when
Mr. Emlyn asked you to come to us this evening, he
was not aware that Clemmy had also invited her young
friends. He had looked forward to rational conversation
with you on his own favourite studies.”
