“La, cousin,” she said, rising up with much stately rustlings of silk as the door closed on the major-domo, “I never thought to see you here.”
Richard came forward blushing, and was even permitted to kiss Miss Hardacre’s hand. Certainly Miss Jilian drew her fingers away somewhat hastily, and carried her auburn head with proper coldness and dignity.
“I have ridden over to ask your pardon, Jilian.”
“For the miserable affair last night. Aunt Letitia and I quarrelled after every one had gone, and I am afraid I lost my temper. I lay awake all night wondering what I should say to you in the morning.”
The lad looked very generous and very handsome as he stood there blushing, his dark eyes full of ardent light and all the sincerity of his heart quivering upon his words. Miss Hardacre still held her head in the air, tapped on the floor with one red-slippered foot, and was ready to pretend that she was not in the least eager for a reconciliation.
“I am sure this is very good of you, cousin,” she said, tartly; “I did not expect you here to-day. In fact, Sir Peter ordered me—”
She hesitated of a sudden, blushed very charmingly, and gave Mr. Richard an eloquent glimpse of her gray eyes.
“Not to receive Mr. Richard Jeffray unless—”
“He could explain away the insults that were heaped upon our family last night.”
Miss Hardacre had sunk gracefully into the window-seat, her melting eyes downcast towards her knees. There was infinite pensiveness in the pose of her fair head. Richard, thinking her adorable for the moment, made so bold as to seat himself beside her. How proud and yet how sensitive she was! Poor child, how was it that the Lady Letitia could abuse her so?
“Upon my honor, Jilian, I was utterly miserable when you went away last night.”
Miss Hardacre’s fingers were plucking at her gown. She did not so much as look at the lad, but hung her head like a statue of grieved and injured innocence.
“Cousin, dear cousin, how can I express my own shame and distress?”
“Then, Richard, you did not want to dance with Julia Perkaby?”
“Confound the girl. It was Aunt Letitia who forced me into it.”
“And you did not write poetry about her, and adore her singing?”
Richard burst forth into manly indignation.