egan in the center of his forehead, traveled
over the top of his head, and ended, rigidly-central, at the ruddy nape
of his neck. His features were as perfectly regular and as perfectly
unintelligent as human features can be. His expression preserved an
immovable composure wonderful to behold. The muscles of his brawny arms
showed through the sleeves of his light summer coat. He was deep in the
chest, thin in the flanks, firm on the legs--in two words a magnificent
human animal, wrought up to the highest pitch of physical development,
from head to foot. This was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn--commonly called "the
honorable;" and meriting that distinction in more ways than one. He was
honorable, in the first place, as being the son (second son) of that
once-rising solicitor, who was now Lord Holchester. He was honorable,
in the second place, as having won the highest popular distinction which
the educational system of modern England can bestow--he had pulled the
stroke-oar in a University boat-race. Add to this, that nobody had ever
seen him read any thing but a newspaper, and that nobody had ever
known him to be backward in settling a bet--and the picture of this
distinguished young Englishman will be, for the present, complete.

Blanche's eye naturally rested on him. Blanche's voice naturally picked
him out as the first player on her side.

"I choose Mr. Delamayn," she said.

As the name passed her lips the flush on Miss Silvester's face died
away, and a deadly paleness took its place. She made a movement to leave
the summer-house--checked herself abruptly--and laid one hand on the
back of a rustic seat at her side. A gentleman behind her, looking at
the hand, saw it clench itself so suddenly and so fiercely that
the glove on it split. The gentleman made a mental memorandum, and
registered Miss Silvester in his private books as "the devil's own
temper."

Meanwhile Mr. Delamayn, by a strange coincidence, took exactly the same
course which Miss Silvester had taken before him. He, too, attempted to
withdraw from the coming game.

"Thanks very much," he said. "Could you additionally honor me by
choosing somebody else? It's not in my line."

Fifty years ago such an answer as this, addressed to a lady, would have
been considered inexcusably impertinent. The social code of the present
time hailed it as something frankly amusing. The company laughed.
Blanche lost her temper.

"Can't we interest you in any thing but severe musc