; it isn't that:
his manner, to me especially, has been altogether different for a
fortnight past. Ever since that last picnic at Anadale--you remember
it--he has not been quite the same to me."

"Let me see; that, I think, was the evening you and Horace drove home
alone together, with that rather uncertain brown mare, was it not?"
says Dorian, with no apparent meaning in his tone. "My dear child, I
dare say you are mistaken about Arthur. Your imagination is leading
you astray."

"No, it is not. I am the least imaginative person alive," says Miss
Peyton, with an emphatic shake of her pretty head. "I can't bear that
sort of people myself; they are always seeing something that isn't
there, and are generally very tiresome all around. I'm rather vexed
about Arthur, do you know?"

"Don't mind him," says Branscombe, easily. "He'll come all right in
time. He is a peculiar fellow in many ways, and when he sets his heart
on any hobby, rides it to the death."

"Has he a hobby now?"

"Yes. He has just formed, and is now trying to work out, a gigantic
scheme, and cuts up a little rough every now and then because all the
world won't see it in the light that he does."

"Poor man!" says Clarissa, sympathetically, "No wonder he seems
strange at times: it is so depressing to be baffled. Why don't you
help him, Dorian?"

"It would take two to help him," says Mr. Branscombe, looking faintly
amused.

"Could I be of any use?"--eagerly. "I would do anything I could for
him."

"No, would you?" says Branscombe, his amusement growing more
perceptible. "I'm sure that's very good of you. I dare say, if Arthur
could hear you say that, he would go wild with joy. 'Anything' is such
a comprehensive word. You're sure you won't go back of it?"

"Quite sure,"--with some surprise.

"My dear Clarissa, is it possible you have not yet seen through
Arthur's latest and greatest design?"

"If you intend to tell me anything, do so: beating about the bush
always fatigues me to death," says Miss Peyton, in a tone of
dignified rebuke. "What does Arthur want?"

"A little thing,--a mere trifle. He simply wants you to marry me."

"Really, Dorian," says Clarissa, coloring slowly, but warmly, "I think
you might find some other subject to jest on."

"I never made a joke in my life; I hope I never shall," returns
Branscombe, reproachfully. "What have I done, that you should accuse
me of such a crime? I have only spoken the plain, unvarnished truth.