ebe courtesied stiffly, and left Mr Welles to explain himself at his
leisure. Now, Mr Welles had come to that glade in the Park for the
special purpose of making a communication, which he felt rather an
awkward one to make with that amount of grace which beseemed him:
nevertheless, being a very adroit young man, and much given to turning
corners in a rapid and elegant manner, he determined to go through with
the matter. If it had only been anyone but Phoebe!

"Mrs Phoebe," he began, "I cannot but flatter myself that you are not
wholly ignorant of the high esteem I have long had for your deep merit."

"Cannot you, Sir?" responded Phoebe, by no means in a promising manner.

Mr Welles felt the manner. He thought his web was scarcely fine-spun
enough. He must begin again.

"I trust that Madam is in good health, Mrs Phoebe?"

"My mother is very well, I thank you, Sir."

"You are yourself in good health, I venture to hope, Madam?"

"I am, Sir, I thank you."

The task which Mr Welles had set himself, as he perceived with chagrin,
was proving harder than he had anticipated. Phoebe evidently intended
to waste no more time on him than she could help.

"The state of affairs at White-Ladies is of infinite concern to me,
Madam."

"Is it, Sir?"

"Undoubtedly, Madam. Your health and happiness--all of you--are extreme
dear to me."

"Really, Sir!"

"Especially _yours_, Madam."

Phoebe made no answer to this. Her silence encouraged Mr Welles to
proceed. He thought his tactics had succeeded, and the creature was
coming round by degrees. The only point now requiring care was not to
startle her away again.

"Allow me to assure you, Madam, that your welfare is in my eyes a matter
of infinite concern."

"So you said, Sir," was Phoebe's cool reply, Mr Welles was very
uncomfortable. Had he made any mistake? Was it possible that, after
all, the creature was not coming round in an orthodox manner?

"Madam, give me leave to assure you, moreover, that I am infinitely
attached to you, and desire no higher happiness than to be permitted to
offer you my service."

It was an instant before Phoebe recognised that Mr Marcus Welles was
actually making her an offer. When she did, her answer was immediate
and unmistakable.

"Don't you, Mr Welles?" said Phoebe. "Then I do!"

"Madam, have you misapprehended me?" demanded her suitor, to whom the
idea of any woman refusing him was an impossibility not to be
entertained fo