"Yes, of course," assented Mr. Fabian.
"Other details may be thought of afterward. You had better begin to call on the lady. It is well to be the first in the market."
"Of course, sir."
Mr. Fabian groomed himself into as charming a toilet as a gentleman's morning suit would admit. He then set forth in his carriage and made the round of the three conservatories of which the town could boast before he could find a cluster of white wood violets to pin on the lapel of his coat. He also got a splendid and fragrant bouquet, and armed with these fascinators he drove to the house of the chief justice and sent in his card.
The ladies were at home. He was shown into the drawing room, where, oh! beneficence of fortune, he found his inamorata alone.
In a pale blue cashmere home dress trimmed with swan's down and lace, she looked fairer, sweeter, daintier, more suggestive of a wood violet than ever.
She left her seat at the piano and came to meet him, saying simply:
"Good morning, Mr. Rockharrt. Mrs. Pendletime will be down presently. She is not in good health, and so she slept late this morning after the ball. Oh! what lovely, lovely flowers! For me? Oh! thank you so much, Mr. Rockharrt," she added, as Mr. Fabian, with a deep bow and a sweet smile, presented his offering.
Mr. Fabian made good use of his time, and had advanced considerably in the good graces of his fair little love before the lady of the house entered.