pressed her hand to his heart with
passion not all affected. He had come to consider it a piece of
monstrous good luck, that, since he must make a wealthy match,
Providence (or whatever as a Hobbist he put in place of Providence),
had, in pointing him the fortune, pointed also to Patricia Verney. But
the night before, in the privacy of his chamber, he had suddenly sat up
between the Holland sheets with a startled and amused expression upon
his handsome face, swathed around with a wonderful silken night-cap, and
had exclaimed to the carven heads surmounting the bed-posts, "May the
Lard sink me! but I'm in love!" and had lain down again with an
astonished laugh. While sipping his morning draught he made up his mind
to secure the prize that very day, in pursuance of which determination
he made a careful toilet, assuming a suit that was eminently becoming to
his blonde beauty. Also his valet slightly darkened the lower lids of
his eyes, thereby giving him a larger, more languishing and melancholy
aspect.

Patricia, from the depths of the Turkey worked chair, gazed with calm
amusement upon her kneeling suitor.

"You talk beautifully, cousin," she said at length. "'Tis as good as a
page from 'Artemene.'"

Sir Charles bit his lip. "It is a page from my heart, madam; nay, it is
my heart itself that I show you."

"And would you forsake all those beautiful ladies who are so madly in
love with you?--I vow, sir, you told me so yourself! Let me see, there
was Lady Mary and Lady Betty, Mistress Winifred, the Countess of ---- and
Madame la Duchesse de ----. Will Corydon leave all the nymphs lamenting
to run after a little salvage wench who does not want him?"

"'S death, madam! you mock me!" cried the baronet, starting to his
feet.

"Sure, I meant no harm, cousin; I but put in a good word for the poor
ladies at Whitehall. I fear that you are but a recreant wooer."

"Will you marry me, madam?" demanded Sir Charles, standing before her
with folded arms.

She slowly shook her head. "I do not love you, cousin."

"I will teach you to do so."

"I do not think you can," she said demurely. "Though I am sure I do not
know why I do not. You are a very fine gentleman, a soldier and a
courtier, witty, brave and handsome--and this match"--a sigh--"is my
father's dearest wish. But I do not love you, sir, and I shall not marry
you until I do."

"Ah!" cried Sir Charles, and sunk again upon his knee. "You give me
hope! I will teach you