BUT two persons were now left in the summer-house--ArnoldBrinkworth and Sir Patrick Lundie.

"Mr. Brinkworth," said the old gentleman, "I have had noopportunity of speaking to you before this; and (as I hear thatyou are to leave us, to-day) I may find no opportunity at a latertime. I want to introduce myself. Your father was one of mydearest friends--let me make a friend of your father's son."

He held out his hands, and mentioned his name.

Arnold recognized it directly. "Oh, Sir Patrick!" he said,warmly, "if my poor father had only taken your advice--"

"He would have thought twice before he gambled away his fortuneon the turf; and he might have been alive here among us, insteadof dying an exile in a foreign land," said Sir Patrick, finishingthe sentence which the other had begun. "No more of that! Let'stalk of something else. Lady Lundie wrote to me about you theother day. She told me your aunt was dead, and had left you heirto her property in Scotland. Is that true?--It is?--Icongratulate you with all my heart. Why are you visiting here,instead of looking after your house and lands? Oh! it's onlythree-and-twenty miles from this; and you're going to look afterit to-day, by the next train? Quite right. And--what?what?--coming back again the day after to-morrow? Why should youcome back? Some special attraction here, I suppose? I hope it'sthe right sort of attraction. You're very young--you're exposedto all sorts of temptations. Have you got a solid foundation ofgood sense at the bottom of you? It is not inherited from yourpoor father, if you have. You must have been a mere boy when heruined his children's prospects. How have you lived from thattime to this? What were you doing when your aunt's will made anidle man of you for life?"

The question was a searching one. Arnold answered it, without theslightest hesitation; speaking with an unaffected modesty andsimplicity which at once won Sir Patrick's heart.

"I was a boy at Eton, Sir," he said, "when my father's lossesruined him. I had to leave school, and get my own living; and Ihave got it, in a roughish way, from that time to this. In plainEnglish, I have followed the sea--in the merchant-service."

"In plainer English still, you met adversity like a brave lad,and you have fairly earned the good luck that has fallen to you,"rejoined Sir Patrick. "Give me your hand--I have taken a likingto you. You're not like the other young fellows of the presenttime. I shall call you 'Arnold.' You mus'n't return thecompliment and call me 'Patrick,' mind--I'm too old to be treatedin that way. Well, and how do you get on here? What sort of awoman is my sister-in-law? and what sort of a house is this?"

Arnold burst out laughing.

"Those are extraordinary questions for you to put to me," hesaid. "You talk, Sir, as if you were a stranger here!"

Sir Patrick touched a spring in the knob of his ivory cane. Alittle gold lid flew up, and disclosed the snuff-box hiddeninside. He took a pinch, and chuckled satirically over somepassing thought, which he did not think it necessary tocommunicate to his young friend.

"I talk as if I was a stranger here, do I?" he resumed. "That'sexactly what I am. Lady Lundie and I correspond on excellentterms; but we run in different grooves, and we see each other asseldom as possible. My story," continued the pleasant old man,with a charming frankness which leveled all differences of ageand rank between Arnold and himself, "is not entirely unlikeyours; though I _am_ old enough to be your grandfather. I wasgetting my living, in my way (as a crusty old Scotch lawyer),when my brother married again. His death, without leaving a sonby either of his wives, gave me a lift in the world, like you.Here I am (to my own sincere regret) the present baronet. Yes, tomy sincere regret! All sorts of responsibilities which I neverbargained for are thrust on my shou lders. I am the head of thefamily; I am my niece's guardian; I am compelled to appear atthis lawn-party--and (between ourselves) I am as completely outof my element as a man can be. Not a single familiar face meets_me_ among all these fine people. Do you know any body here?"

"I have one friend at Windygates," said Arnold. "He came herethis morning, like you. Geoffrey Delamayn."

As he made the reply, Miss Silvester appeared at the entrance tothe summer-house. A shadow of annoyance passed over her face whenshe saw that the place was occupied. She vanished, unnoticed, andglided back to the game.

Sir Patrick looked at the son of his old friend, with everyappearance of being disappointed in the young man for the firsttime.

"Your choice of a friend rather surprises me," he said.

Arnold artlessly accepted the words as an appeal to him forinformation.

"I beg your pardon, Sir--there's nothing surprising in it," hereturned. "We were school-fellows at Eton, in the old times. AndI have met Geoffrey since, when he was yachting, and when I waswith my ship. Geoffrey saved my life, Sir Patrick," he added, hisvoice rising, and his eyes brightening with honest admiration ofhis friend. "But for him, I should have been drowned in aboat-accident. Isn't _that_ a good reason for his being a friendof mine?"

"It depends entirely on the value you set on your life," said SirPatrick.

"The value I set on my life?" repeated Arnold. "I set a highvalue on it, of course!"

"In that case, Mr. Delamayn has laid you under an obligation."

"Which I can never repay!"

"Which you will repay one of these days, with interest--if I knowany thing of human nature," answered Sir Patrick.

He said the words with the emphasis of strong conviction. Theywere barely spoken when Mr. Delamayn appeared (exactly as MissSilvester had appeared) at the entrance to the summer-house. He,too, vanished, unnoticed--like Miss Silvester again. But therethe parallel stopped. The Honorable Geoffrey's expression, ondiscovering the place to be occupied, was, unmistakably anexpression of relief.

Arnold drew the right inference, this time, from Sir Patrick'slanguage and Sir Patrick's tones. He eagerly took up the defenseof his friend.

"You said that rather bitterly, Sir," he remarked. "What hasGeoffrey done to offend you?"

"He presumes to exist--that's what he has done," retorted SirPatrick. "Don't stare! I am speaking generally. Your friend isthe model young Briton of the present time. I don't like themodel young Briton. I don't see the sense of crowing over him asa superb national production, because he is big and strong, anddrinks beer with impunity, and takes a cold shower bath all theyear round. There is far too much glorification in England, justnow, of the mere physical qualities which an Englishman shareswith the savage and the brute. And the ill results are beginningto show themselves already! We are readier than we ever were topractice all that is rough in our national customs, and to excuseall that is violent and brutish in our national acts. Read thepopular books--attend the popular amusements; and you will findat the bottom of them all a lessening regard for the gentlergraces of civilized life, and a growing admiration for thevirtues of the aboriginal Britons!"

Arnold listened in blank amazement. He had been the innocentmeans of relieving Sir Patrick's mind of an accumulation ofsocial protest, unprovided with an issue for some time past. "How hot you are over it, Sir!" he exclaimed, in irrepressibleastonishment.

Sir Patrick instantly recovered himself. The genuine wonderexpressed in the young man's face was irresistible.

"Almost as hot," he said, "as if I was cheering at a boat-race,or wrangling over a betting-book--eh? Ah, we were so easilyheated when I was a young man! Let's change the subject. I knownothing to the prejudice of your friend, Mr. Delamayn. It's thecant of the day," cried Sir Patrick, relapsing again, "to takethese physically-wholesome men for granted as beingmorally-wholesome men into the bargain. Time will show whetherthe cant of the day is right.--So you are actually coming back toLady Lundie's after a mere flying visit to your own property? Irepeat, that is a most extraordinary proceeding on the part of alanded gentleman like you. What's the attraction here--eh?"

Before Arnold could reply Blanche called to him from the lawn.His color rose, and he turned eagerly to go out. Sir Patricknodded his head with the air of a man who had been answered tohis own entire satisfaction. "Oh!" he said, "_that's_ theattraction, is it?"

Arnold's life at sea had left him singularly ignorant of the waysof the world on shore. Instead of taking the joke, he lookedconfused. A deeper tinge of color reddened his dark cheeks. "Ididn't say so," he answered, a little irritably.

Sir Patrick lifted two of his white, wrinkled old fingers, andgood-humoredly patted the young sailor on the cheek.

"Yes you did," he said. "In red letters."

The little gold lid in the knob of the ivory cane flew up, andthe old gentleman rewarded himself for that neat retort with apinch of snuff. At the same moment Blanche made her appearance onthe scene.

"Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "I shall want you directly. Uncle,it's your turn to play."

"Bless my soul!" cried Sir Patrick, "I forgot the game." Helooked about him, and saw his mallet and ball left waiting on thetable. "Where are the modern substitutes for conversation? Oh,here they are!" He bowled the ball out before him on to the lawn,and tucked the mallet, as if it was an umbrella, under his arm."Who was the first mistaken person," he said to himself, as hebriskly hobbled out, "who discovered that human life was aserious thing? Here am I, with one foot in the grave; and themost serious question before me at the present moment is, Shall Iget through the Hoops?"

Arnold and Blanche were left together.

Among the personal privileges which Nature has accorded to women,there are surely none more enviable than their privilege ofalways looking their best when they look at the man they love.When Blanche's eyes turned on Arnold after her uncle had goneout, not even the hideous fashionable disfigurements of theinflated "chignon" and the tilted hat could destroy the triplecharm of youth, beauty, and tenderness beaming in her face.Arnold looked at her--and remembered, as he had never rememberedyet, that he was going by the next train, and that he was leavingher in the society of more than one admiring man of his own age.The experience of a whole fortnight passed under the same roofwith her had proved Blanche to be the most charming girl inexistence. It was possible that she might not be mortallyoffended 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 theIntention and the Execution? Arnold's resolution to speak was asfirmly 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," saidBlanche. "What has Sir Patrick been saying to you? My unclesharpens his wit on every body. He has been sharpening it on_you?"_

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

"Sir Patrick is a terrible old man," he answered. "Just beforeyou came in he discovered one of my secrets by only looking in myface." 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, shewould have taken him lightly in hand, and led him, by finegradations, to the object in view. But in two minutes or less itwould be Arnold's turn to play. "He is going to make me anoffer," 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 runsin 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. Butthe tender passion perversely delights in raising obstacles toitself. A sudden timidity seized on Arnold exactly at the wrongmoment. 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 boxedArnold on both ears for being so unreasonably afraid of her.

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

Arnold made another plunge. He answered: "You would see that Iwant a little encouragement."

"From _me?_"

"Yes--if you please."

Blanche looked back over her shoulder. The summer-house stood onan eminence, approached by steps. The players on the lawn beneathwere audible, but not visible. Any one of them might appear,unexpectedly, at a moment's notice. Blanche listened. There wasno sound of approaching footsteps--there was a general hush, andthen another bang of the mallet on the ball and then a clappingof hands. Sir Patrick was a privileged person. He had beenallowed, in all probability, to try again; and he was succeedingat the second effort. This implied a reprieve of some seconds.Blanche looked back again at Arnold.

"Consider yourself encouraged," she whispered; and instantlyadded, 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 atall."

It was all over--the words were spoken--he had got her by thehand. Again the perversity of the tender passion showed itselfmore strongly than ever. The confession which Blanche had beenlonging to hear, had barely escaped her lover's lips beforeBlanche 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 privatelyfond of him yourself, remember, and when you were certain to beinterrupted in another moment! Blanche left off struggling, andlooked up at her young sailor with a smile.

"Did you learn this method of making love in themerchant-service?" she inquired, saucily.

Arnold persisted in contemplating his prospects from the seriouspoint of view.

"I'll go back to the merchant-service," he said, "if I have madeyou angry with me."

Blanche administered another dose of encouragement.

"Anger, Mr. Brinkworth, is one of the bad passions," sheanswered, demurely. "A young lady who has been properly broughtup 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 wasimmovable.

"Say something to encourage me before I go," he pleaded. "Oneword will do. Say, Yes."

Blanche shook her head. Now she had got him, the temptation totease him was irresistible.

"Quite impossible!" she rejoined. "If you want any moreencouragement, 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 anothereffort 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 tohis--she was simply irresistible. Arnold caught her round thewaist and kissed her. Needless to tell him to get through thehoop. He had surely got through it already! Blanche wasspeechless. Arnold's last effort in the art of courtship hadtaken away her breath. Before she could recover herself a soundof approaching footsteps became plainly audible. Arnold gave hera last squeeze, and ran out.

She sank on the nearest chair, and closed her eyes in a flutterof delicious confusion.

The footsteps ascending to the summer-house came nearer. Blancheopened her eyes, and saw Anne Silvester, standing alone, lookingat her. She sprang to her feet, and threw her arms impulsivelyround 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 wasexpressed in that embrace, and in the tone in which the wordswere spoken. The hearts of the mothers, in the past time, couldhardly have been closer to each other--as it seemed--than thehearts of the daughters were now. And yet, if Blanche had lookedup in Anne's face at that moment, she must have seen that Anne'smind 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 betweenourselves. 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 inrepeating the words. They were echoed by a heavy sigh. Blancheinstantly looked up into Anne's face. "What's the matter?" sheasked, 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?" sheadded, after a moment's consideration. "Bills to pay? I have gotplenty 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 adistance for the first time in Blanche's experience of her.

"I tell you all my secrets," she said. "Why are _you_ keeping asecret from _me?_ Do you know that you have been looking anxiousand out of spirits for some time past? Perhaps you don't like Mr.Brinkworth? No? you _do_ like him? Is it my marrying, then? Ibelieve it is! You fancy we shall be parted, you goose? As if Icould do without you! Of course, when I am married to Arnold, youwill come and live with us. That's quite understood betweenus--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 person coming was Arnold. It was Blanche's turn to play, andhe had volunteered to fetch her.

Blanche's attention--easily enough distracted on otheroccasions--remained steadily fixed on Anne.

"You are not yourself," she said, "and I must know the reason ofit. I will wait till to-night; and then you will tell me, whenyou come into my room. Don't look like that! You _shall_ tell me.And there's a kiss for you in the mean time!"

She joined Arnold, and recovered her gayety the moment she lookedat him.

"Well? Have you got through the hoops?"

"Never mind the hoops. I have broken the ice with Sir Patrick."

"What! before all the company!"

"Of course not! I have made an appointment to speak to him here."

They went laughing down the steps, and joined the game.

Left alone, Anne Silvester walked slowly to the inner and darkerpart of the summer-house. A glass, in a carved wooden frame, wasfixed against one of the side walls. She stopped and looked intoit--looked, shuddering, at the reflection of herself.

"Is the time coming," she said, "when even Blanche will see whatI am in my face?"

She turned aside from the glass. With a sudden cry of despair sheflung up her arms and laid them heavily against the wall, andrested her head on them with her back to the light. At the samemoment a man's figure appeared--standing dark in the flood ofsunshine at the entrance to the summer-house. The man wasGeoffrey Delamayn.