er
remembered yet, that he was going by the next train, and that he was
leaving her in the society of more than one admiring man of his own age.
The experience of a whole fortnight passed under the same roof with her
had proved Blanche to be the most charming girl in existence. It was
possible that she might not be mortally offended with him if he told her
so. He determined that he _would_ tell her so at that auspicious moment.

But who shall presume to measure the abyss that lies between the
Intention and the Execution? Arnold's resolution to speak was as firmly
settled as a resolution could be. And what came of it? Alas for human
infirmity! Nothing came of it but silence.

"You don't look quite at your ease, Mr. Brinkworth," said Blanche. "What
has Sir Patrick been saying to you? My uncle sharpens his wit on every
body. He has been sharpening it on _you?"_

Arnold began to see his way. At an immeasurable distance--but still he
saw it.

"Sir Patrick is a terrible old man," he answered. "Just before you
came in he discovered one of my secrets by only looking in my face." He
paused, rallied his courage, pushed on at all hazards, and came headlong
to the point. "I wonder," he asked, bluntly, "whether you take after
your uncle?"

Blanche instantly understood him. With time at her disposal, she would
have taken him lightly in hand, and led him, by fine gradations, to the
object in view. But in two minutes or less it would be Arnold's turn to
play. "He is going to make me an offer," thought Blanche; "and he has
about a minute to do it in. He _shall_ do it!"

"What!" she exclaimed, "do you think the gift of discovery runs in the
family?"

Arnold made a plunge.

"I wish it did!" he said.

Blanche looked the picture of astonishment.

"Why?" she asked.

"If you could see in my face what Sir Patrick saw--"

He had only to finish the sentence, and the thing was done. But the
tender passion perversely delights in raising obstacles to itself. A
sudden timidity seized on Arnold exactly at the wrong moment. He stopped
short, in the most awkward manner possible.

Blanche heard from the lawn the blow of the mallet on the ball, and the
laughter of the company at some blunder of Sir Patrick's. The precious
seconds were slipping away. She could have boxed Arnold on both ears for
being so unreasonably afraid of her.

"Well," she said, impatiently, "if I did look in your face, what should
I see?"

Arnold made another plu