“How do you like him?” whispered Maud,
slipping into the empty chair.
“Very well,” was the composed reply; for
Lillian enjoyed her little mystery too much to spoil
it yet.
“What did you say to him? I longed to hear,
for you seemed to enjoy yourselves very much, but
I didn’t like to be a marplot.”
Lillian repeated a part of the conversation, and Maud
professed to be consumed with jealousy at the impression
her friend had evidently made.
“It is folly to try to win the hero, for he
is already won, you know,” answered Lillian,
shutting the cover on the pictured Helen with a sudden
motion as if glad to extinguish her.
“Oh dear, no; Mrs. Langdon just told Mamma that
she was mistaken about their being engaged; for she
asked him and he shook his head, saying Helen was
his ward.”
“But that is absurd, for he’s only a boy
himself. It’s very odd, isn’t it?
Never mind, I shall soon know all about it.”
“How?” cried Maud, amazed at Lillian’s
assured manner.
“Wait a day or two and, I’ll tell you
a romance in return for yours. Your mother beckons
to me, so I know Hester has come. Good night.
I’ve had a charming time.”
And with this tantalizing adieu, Lillian slipped away.
Hester was waiting in the carriage, but as Lillian
appeared, Talbot put aside the footman and handed
her in, saying very low, in the well-remembered tone:
“Good night, my little mistress.”
FAIR HELEN
To no one but her mother and Hester did Lillian confide
the discovery she had made. None of the former
servants but old Bedford remained with them, and till
Paul chose to renew the old friendship it was best
to remain silent. Great was the surprise and
delight of our lady and Hester at the good fortune
of their protege, and many the conjectures as to how
he would explain his hasty flight.
“You will go and see him, won’t you, Mamma,
or at least inquire about him?” said Lillian,
eager to assure the wanderer of a welcome, for those
few words of his had satisfied her entirely.
“No, dear, it is for him to seek us, and till
he does, I shall make no sign. He knows where
we are, and if he chooses he can renew the acquaintance
so strangely broken off. Be patient, and above
all things remember, Lillian, that you are no longer
a child,” replied my lady, rather disturbed
by her daughter’s enthusiastic praises of Paul.
“I wish I was, for then I might act as I feel,
and not be afraid of shocking the proprieties.”
And Lillian went to bed to dream of her hero.
For three days she stayed at home, expecting Paul,
but he did not come, and she went out for her usual
ride in the Park, hoping to meet him. An elderly
groom now rode behind her, and she surveyed him with
extreme disgust, as she remembered the handsome lad
who had once filled that place. Nowhere did Paul
appear, but in the Ladies’ Mile she passed an
elegant brougham in which sat a very lovely girl and
a mild old lady.
