"To tell you a secret," resumed Robertson, "I have proof positive that I have made a serious impression on a very beautiful young lady. You need not smile, Mr. Wynslade, for I can show you something that was presented to me the other day by herself, after first pressing it repeatedly to her lips."
He then took out of his waistcoat pocket the paper that contained the remnant of the camellia japonica, adding, "I can assure you that this flower was given me by the prettiest girl in the room."
The eyes of Wynslade were involuntarily directed to Selina.
"You are right," resumed Robertson. "That is the very lady, Miss Selina Mansel."
"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Wynslade. "Is this the lady that blushes at you? Did she give you the flower?"
"Yes, she did," replied Robertson. "A true bill, I assure you. The flower was her gift, and she has just presented me with a piece of poetry that is still more pointed. And yet, between ourselves, I think it strange that so young a lady should not have had patience to wait for a declaration on my part. I wonder that she should be the first to break the ice. However, I suppose it is only a stronger evidence of her partiality."
"And what are you going to do?" asked Wynslade.
"Oh! I shall take her," answered Robertson. "At least I think I shall. To be sure, I have been so short a time in Somerford, that I have scarcely yet had an opportunity of ascertaining the state of the market. But, besides her being an only child, with a father that is likely to come down handsomely, she is very young and very pretty, and will in every respect suit me exactly. However, I shall proceed with due circumspection. It is bad policy to be too alert on these occasions. It will be most prudent to keep her in suspense awhile."
"Insufferable coxcomb!" thought Wynslade. However, he checked his contempt and indignation so far as to say with tolerable calmness—"Mr. Robertson, there must be certainly some mistake. Before I went to India, I knew something of Miss Mansel and her family, and I reproach myself for not having sought to renew my acquaintance with them immediately on my return. She was a mere child when I last saw her before my departure. Still, I know from the manner in which she has been brought up, that it is utterly impossible she should have given you any real cause to suspect her of a partiality, which, after all, you seem incapable of appreciating."
"Suspect!" exclaimed Robertson, warmly; "suspect, indeed! Blushes and confusion you acknowledge to be certain signs. And then there is the flower—and then—"