"Neither Airlie nor you
need pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave
you." He quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room,
where a box of cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out
into the garden to enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the
path by the shrubbery? The wind swayed the tall branches, but
there came a lull, and then he heard a murmur of voices. Looking
over the hedge, he saw the tall figure of a man, and the slight
figure of a young girl shrouded in a black shawl.
"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that
is not precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still,
it is no business of mine."
But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of
true passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl
place her hand in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.
He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and
showed in the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of
Lillian Earle.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock
was chiming half past nine.
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