"If she didn't think well of it I'd want to cut my throat. I'd rather keep on living in blissful uncertainty, but I wanted you to know—why I am here, and why I want to stay on and on."
"Why, I'm very glad to know," said Arthur, "but surely it's your own affair."
Mr. Langham shook his head.
"Last night," said he, "I was dozing on my little piazza. Who should row by at a distance but Miss Gay and Miss Lee. You know how sounds carry through an Adirondack night? Miss Lee said to Miss Gay: 'I tell you he doesn't. Not really. He's just a male flirt.' 'A butterfly,' said Miss Gay."
"But how do you know they were referring to you?"
"By the way the blessed young things laughed at the word 'butterfly'. So I wanted you to know that my intentions are tragically serious, no matter what others may say. Whatever I may be, and I have been insulted more than once about my figure and my habits, I am not a flirt. I am just as romantic as if I was a living skeleton."
Here Arthur's head went back, and he laughed till the tears came. And Mr. Langham couldn't help laughing, too.
A few moments later he was going over The Inn books with Maud Darling and displaying for her edification an astonishing knowledge of entries and a truly magical facility in figuring. Suddenly, apropos of something not in the least germane, he said:
"Miss Maud, when in your opinion is the most opportune time for a man to propose to a girl?"