The white April days shone all around him; the silver and
purple clouds went flying overhead; here he was by the deep, brown pools
again, with the gray rocks and the overhanging birch-woods and the long
shallows filling all the world with that soft, continuous murmur. As for
his singing?--oh, yes, he could sing--he could sing, if needs were,
"O lang may his lady-love
Look frae the Castle Doune,
Ere she see the Earl o' Moray
Come sounding through the toun"--
but there is no gaslight here--there are no painted faces--he has not to
look on at the antics of a clown, with shame and confusion in his
heart--
The wild fancy was suddenly snapped in twain; Lady Cunyngham rose; the
two younger people did likewise.
"Now, I know you gentlemen like a cigar or cigarette after luncheon,"
she said to Lionel, "and we are going to leave you quite by
yourself--you will find us in the drawing-room when you please."
Of course he would not hear of such a proposal; he opened the door for
them, and followed them up-stairs; what were cigars or cigarettes to him
when he had such a chance of listening to Honnor Cunyngham's low,
modulated voice, or watching for a smile in the calmly observant hazel
eyes? Indeed, in the drawing-room, as Miss Honnor showed him a large
collection of Assiout ware which had been sent her by an English officer
in Egypt (by what right or title, Lionel swiftly asked himself, had any
English officer made bold to send Miss Cunyngham a hamperful of these
red-clay idiotcies?), this solitary guest had again and again to remind
himself that he must not outstay his welcome.
Pages:
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482