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 plunge. He answered: “You would see that I want a little encouragement.”
“From me?”
“Yes—if you please.”
Blanche looked back over her shoulder. The summer-house stood on an eminence, approached by steps. The players on the lawn beneath were audible, but not visible. Any one of them might appear, unexpectedly, at a moment’s notice. Blanche listened. There was no sound of approaching footsteps—there was a general hush, and then another bang of the mallet on the ball and then a clapping of hands. Sir Patrick was a privileged person. He had been allowed, in all probability, to try again; and he was succeeding at the second effort. This implied a reprieve of some seconds. Blanche looked back again at Arnold.
“Consider yourself encouraged,” she whispered; and instantly added, with the ineradicable female instinct of self-defense, “within limits!”
Arnold made a last plunge—straight to the bottom, this time.
“Consider yourself loved,” he burst out, “without any limits at all.”
It was all over—the words were spoken—he had got her by the hand. Again the perversity of the tender passion showed itself more strongly than ever. The confession which Blanche had been longing to hear, had barely escaped her lover’s lips before Blanche protested against it! She struggled to release her hand. She formally appealed to Arnold to let her go.
Arnold only held her the tighter.
“Do try to like me a little!” he pleaded. “I am so fond of you!”
Who was to resist such wooing as this?—when you were privately fond of him yourself, remember, and when you were certain to be interrupted in another moment! Blanche left off struggling, and looked up at her young sailor with a smile.
“Did you learn this method of making love in the merchant-service?” she inquired, saucily.
Arnold persisted in contemplating his prospects from the serious point of view.
“I’ll go back to the merchant-service,” he said, “if I have made you angry with me.”
Blanche administered another dose of encouragement.
“Anger, Mr. Brinkworth, is one of the bad passions,” she answered, demurely. “A young lady who has been properly brought up has no bad passions.”
There was a sudden cry from the players on the lawn—a cry for “Mr. Brinkworth.” Blanche tried to push him out. Arnold was immovable.
“Say something to encourage me before I go,” he pleaded. “One word will do. Say, Yes.”
Blanche shook her head. Now she had got him, the temptation to tease him was irresistible.
“Quite impossible!” she rejoined. “If you want any more encouragement, you must speak to my uncle.”
“I’ll speak to him,” returned Arnold, “before I leave the house.”
There was another cry for “Mr. Brinkworth.” Blanche made another effort to push him out.
“Go!” she said. “And mind you get through the hoop!”
She had both hands on his shoulders—her face was close to his—she was simply irresistible. Arnold caught her round the waist and kissed her. Needless to tell him to get through the hoop. He had surely got through it already! Blanche was speechless. Arnold’s last effort in the art of courtship had taken away her breath. Before she could recover herself a sound of approaching footsteps became plainly audible. Arnold gave her a last squeeze, and ran out.
She sank on the nearest chair, and closed her eyes in a flutter of delicious confusion.
The footsteps ascending to the summer-house came nearer. Blanche opened her eyes, and saw Anne Silvester, standing alone, looking at her. She sprang to her feet, and threw her arms impulsively round Anne’s neck.
“You don’t know what has happened,” she whispered. “Wish me joy, darling. He has said the words. He is mine for life!”
All the sisterly love and sisterly confidence of many years was expressed in that embrace, and in the tone in which the words were spoken. The hearts of the mothers, in the past time, could hardly have been closer to each other—as it seemed—than the hearts of the daughters were now. And yet, if Blanche had looked up in Anne’s face at that moment, she must have seen that Anne’s mind was far away from her little love-story.
“You know who it is?” she went on, after waiting for a reply.
“Mr. Brinkworth?”
“Of course! Who else should it be?”
“And you are really happy, my love?”
“Happy?” repeated Blanche “Mind! this is strictly between ourselves. I am ready to jump out of my skin for joy. I love him! I love him! I love him!” she cried, with a childish pleasure in repeating the words. They were echoed by a heavy sigh. Blanche instantly looked up into Anne’s face. “What’s the matter?” she asked, with a sudden change of voice and manner.
“Nothing.”
Blanche’s observation saw too plainly to be blinded in that way.
“There is something the matter,” she said. “Is it money?” she added, after a moment’s consideration. “Bills to pay? I have got plenty of money, Anne. I’ll lend you what you like.”
“No, no, my dear!”
Blanche drew back, a little hurt. Anne was keeping her at a distance for the first time in Blanche’s experience of her.
“I tell you all my secrets,” she said. “Why are you keeping a secret from me? Do you know that you have been looking anxious and out of spirits for some time past? Perhaps you don’t like Mr. Brinkworth? No? you do like him? Is it my marrying, then? I believe it is! You fancy we shall be parted, you goose? As if I could do without you! Of course, when I am married to Arnold, you will come and live with us. That’s quite understood between us—isn’t it?”
Anne drew herself suddenly, almost roughly, away from Blanche, and pointed out to the steps.
“There is somebody coming,” she said. “Look!”
The