Two on a Tower

It being a fine evening Louis went out of the house to enjoy his cigar in

the shrubbery. On reaching his favourite seat he found he had left his

cigar-case behind him; he immediately returned for it. When he

approached the window by which he had emerged he saw Swithin St. Cleeve

standing there in the dusk, talking to Viviette inside.

St. Cleeve's back was towards Louis, but, whether at a signal from her or

by accident, he quickly turned and recognized Glanville; whereupon

raising his hat to Lady Constantine the young man passed along the

terrace-walk and out by the churchyard door.

Louis rejoined his sister. 'I didn't know you allowed your lawn to be a

public thoroughfare for the parish,' he said.

'I am not exclusive, especially since I have been so poor,' replied she.

'Then do you let everybody pass this way, or only that illustrious youth

because he is so good-looking?' 'I have no strict rule in the case. Mr. St. Cleeve is an acquaintance of mine, and he can certainly come here if he chooses.' Her colour rose

somewhat, and she spoke warmly.

Louis was too cautious a bird to reveal to her what had suddenly dawned

upon his mind--that his sister, in common with the (to his thinking)

unhappy Tabitha Lark, had been foolish enough to get interested in this

phenomenon of the parish, this scientific Adonis. But he resolved to

cure at once her tender feeling, if it existed, by letting out a secret

which would inflame her dignity against the weakness.

'A good-looking young man,' he said, with his eyes where Swithin had

vanished. 'But not so good as he looks. In fact a regular young

sinner.' 'What do you mean?' 'Oh, only a little feature I discovered in St. Cleeve's history. But I

suppose he has a right to sow his wild oats as well as other young men.' 'Tell me what you allude to,--do, Louis.' 'It is hardly fit that I should. However, the case is amusing enough.

I was sitting in the arbour to-day, and was an unwilling listener to the

oddest interview I ever heard of. Our friend the Bishop discovered, when

we visited the observatory last night, that our astronomer was not alone

in his seclusion. A lady shared his romantic cabin with him; and finding

this, the Bishop naturally enough felt that the ordinance of confirmation

had been profaned. So his lordship sent for Master Swithin this morning,

and meeting him in the churchyard read him such an excommunicating

lecture as I warrant he won't forget in his lifetime. Ha-ha-ha! 'Twas

very good,--very.' He watched her face narrowly while he spoke with such seeming

carelessness. Instead of the agitation of jealousy that he had expected

to be aroused by this hint of another woman in the case, there was a

curious expression, more like embarrassment than anything else which

might have been fairly attributed to the subject. 'Can it be that I am

mistaken?' he asked himself.