One morning, on the Serpentine, I had the good fortune to catch a young lady just as she was about to fall in such a manner that the consequence could only have been a nasty sprain. She thanked me prettily, and a few moments later her protector on the ice crossed over to where I sat taking off my skates, and added an expression of his gratitude. Somehow his face seemed strangely familiar to me, and it was not long before I recognized in him a nephew of Sir Benjamin Plowden, with whom I had been slightly acquainted in by-gone days. Making myself known, I was taken across and formally introduced to the lady, who turned out to be his wife. We strolled part of the way back together, and next day, to my surprise, I received a card for an "At Home" at their residence the following night.
Now though I am not particularly fond of "At Homes," I suppose my destiny ordained that I should accept this invitation. It was altogether a brilliant affair, and as there was dancing, and Captain Plowden (for that was my host's name) was kind enough to see that I did not want for partners, I enjoyed myself hugely.
Towards the middle of the evening I happened to be standing near the door of the ball-room, when, to my astonishment and delight, who should enter but Maud, leaning on her father's arm. To make myself known to Sir Benjamin (for I had altered so much since my last interview with him that I doubt very much if he would have known me else) was the work of an instant, and before a spectator could have counted a hundred I had completed the necessary preliminaries, and was waltzing up the room, my arm round Maud's waist, and my whole being intoxicated with the fragrance of her presence.
Whether I danced well or ill, whether my step suited hers, what the music was, or why we did not collide with every other couple on the floor, I do not know. I was only conscious that I was dancing with Maud, that I held her in my arms, that I was looking into her face and listening to her voice. When the music ceased I led her through the drawing-room into the conservatory, and finding two vacant seats settled myself beside her.
How can I describe all the delights of that evening! It would be impossible, for beyond the fact that just before supper I blurted out a question which had been on the tip of my tongue for years, it is all one mist of rose-coloured light.
When I left the house I trod on air, I was the happiest man in England, for I had proposed to Maud, and she had accepted me! Though it was considerably past two o'clock when I reached home, what must I do but wake the mother up to tell her my glorious tidings; and I know her congratulations were genuine, though, in her confused state, the dear old soul could hardly make head or tail of what I said to her.
As early next morning as my conscience would permit, I set off to call upon Sir Benjamin, hoping to catch him and get my interview over before he should leave for the city. Arriving at the house, I was shown into the morning-room, and I had not been there two minutes before Maud entered. If she had appeared adorable the night before, she was doubly so now, and the pretty little air of embarrassment which possessed her did not, I promise you, detract from her beauty in my eyes.
"Oh, Jack," she began—for somehow every one calls me Jack—"how good of you to come so early!"
I thought it was rather a matter for shame, but didn't say so.
"I have come to see your father, Maud," I answered, making, I do not doubt, a rueful face; "and though I know him so well, I feel for all the world like a criminal going to execution. Have you said anything to him about it?"