The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

"Do not look so utterly dismayed. You said that you would not be vexed, you know. Besides, now it is another thing."

"Another thing! But-Lily, tell me exactly what it is that you have done."

"I will tell you just exactly what it is that I have done. To begin, then. You see, I have not been happy-ever since you went away."

"You foolish maid! And yet you wisest of them all."

"I waited-oh, Will, I waited such a weary time! I thought that you would write, or-or do something that you never did. And at last I began to think that waiting was in vain. And when I was in the most hopeless of my hopeless moods-it was no further back than yesterday, yet it seemed years ago!" – she put forth her hand and touched his arm, and he laughed beneath his breath-"a letter came from Mr. Ash. He said that Mr. Ely was coming here. I showed the letter to my aunt. She seemed to take it for granted that I would do exactly what my guardian wished me to-as though it were a decree that was written in the skies. So when he came, and asked me to be his wife-just out of spite and wickedness I said I would. He never asked me if I loved him; he never pretended even to love me. It was just a bargain: I was to be his wife."

"My little love! What is it you have done? And now, pray, what is it that you mean to do?"

"I shall write and tell him I have changed my mind."

"Changed your mind! What do you suppose that he will say to that?"

"Why, what can he say? It is like a commercial treaty which is in the air. There are some of the clauses to which I am unable to agree. So I withdraw from the negotiations and refuse to sign."

"One thing is sure: you cannot be his wife."

"Will, I am just like you! I love you better than my life!"

"Sweetheart! Then I have won the prize! I thought that I had won the prize! Will you forgive me my presumption in that I thought that I had won the prize?"

"You should not have kept me so long waiting. It is your fault that I have sinned."

"You shall not have cause again to esteem me false; and observe, fair maid, I had a higher estimate of you."

"Willy! That is unkind!"

Then she turned her face up to his, and when he saw that sweet face upturned and those sweet eyes, what could he do but kiss, not once nor twice, but many times, those sweetest lips? And by this time the two were close together. He had his arm about her waist and pressed her to his breast.

"Do you know that, from my point of view, fair queen, this was worth waiting for?"

"And do you know, sir, that is my point of view as well?"

Then there was silence, and they feasted on the love that was in each other's eyes.

"Lily! Mr. Summers!"

And while they were still engaged in this delectable pursuit, all at once their names were spoken from behind; and turning, they saw that Mrs. Clive was standing in the shadow of the trees.

CHAPTER VII

MRS. CLIVE-AND POMPEY

Mrs. Clive had the faithful Pompey in her arms. That faithful animal was out for exercise, and exercise meant as a rule, to him, being carried all the way. His mistress stared at the lovers, and the lovers, taken aback for a moment, stared at her.

"Can I believe my eyes!"

In her amazement she let the faithful creature fall. Pompey gave a dismal groan. He did not belong to the order of dogs who can fall with comfort to themselves. Where he fell he lay. In the agitation of her feelings Mrs. Clive did not notice the quadruped's distress.

"Lily! Is it possible it is my niece!"

Quite possible, it seemed, and not at all surprising, either.

Recovering from the first momentary shock, Miss Truscott was the most charming niece alive. Removing herself from the gentleman's near neighbourhood, she inclined her body and gave a little graceful curtsey-a prettier curtsey never yet was seen.

"Yes, aunty, it is I." Then she drew herself up straight. "You always said I was your niece." Then she turned to the gentleman. "Willy, don't you know my aunt?"

Mr. Summers laughed. The old lady bridled, but the gentleman, not at all abashed, took off his hat and advanced to her with outstretched hand.

"Mrs. Clive, it is twelve months since I saw you. I am afraid you have forgotten me."

But he was mistaken if he thought that she would take his hand. There never was an old lady with a stiffer mien, and she was at her stiffest now. She had her mittened hands down by her sides, and looked him in the face as though she could not see that he was there.

"I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir."

This was a fib, but there are occasions when fibs must be expected.

"My name is Summers-William Summers. I thought I heard you just now mention me by name. And I, at least, have not forgotten the pleasant hours I spent with you last year."

"Lily, I must trouble you to come with me."

That was the only answer he received to his small compliment. With her most unbending air the old lady turned to go. But the impression she desired to convey was in a measure spoiled. In sweeping round-her action could only be described as sweeping round-she kicked the faithful Pompey; and when the faithful Pompey received that kick he raised a dreadful howl, and that dreadful howl awoke the echoes far and wide. In an instant Mr. Summers had the ill-used creature in his arms.

"Poor Pompey! I am afraid you have hurt him, Mrs. Clive. How well he looks! See, Mrs. Clive, he seems in pain. I'm afraid you must have kicked him in the side, and in his condition that is rather a serious thing. Don't you know me, Pompey?"

It appeared that Pompey did, for, in a feeble kind of way, he put out his tongue and licked his protector's nose. Such a sight could not but touch the lady's heart. Still, of course, it was out of the question that she should unbend.

"I must trouble you, sir, to let me have my dog."

"Permit me to carry him for you towards the house. I'm sure he is in pain-see how still he is."

If stillness were a sign of pain, then the faithful beast must have been pretty constantly in pain, for motion-or emotion-of any sort was not in Pompey's line. Mrs. Clive would have grasped the subterfuge if she had been left alone, but her perfidious niece came to the gentleman's aid. She began to stroke and caress the faithful beast.

"Poor Pompey! Poor 'ickle Pompey, then! I hope he has not broken any bones. Do you think it is his ribs?"

Miss Truscott's back was turned to Mrs. Clive. If the aunt had seen the way in which her niece glanced under her long eyelashes at the gentleman in front of her she would have seized the animal and marched away.

"I scarcely think it is his ribs."

It was not probable, considering how they were swathed in fat.

"Perhaps it is his leg."

"I hope that it is not."

Mr. Summers threw such a tone of doubt into this expression of his hopes that Mrs. Clive's heart gave quite a jump. Her Pompey's leg! Broken! And by her! But she was not by any means going to give in yet. There was the bearded gentleman holding the wheezing quadruped as though it were the most precious thing on earth, and there was her niece very close in front of him. All her sense of moral rectitude was up in arms.