'And so worldly—she, all heart!'
'Perhaps; but what does all this about Desmond mean, eh, friend Trevor?'
'A little time will show now,' said the other, bitterly.
CHAPTER VII.
A PROPOSAL.
It was the noon of the following day when Major Desmond ordered his mail phaeton, and drove to the mansion of the Collingwoods to avail himself of the 'permission' granted to him so fully by Sir Carnaby on the evening before.
The hour was somewhat early for a usual call; but as an ami de la maison, and considering the errand on which he was come, Desmond thought he might venture to take the liberty, and he felt a kind of pleasure in the belief that he would surprise his intended, for he came with the full resolution of sacrificing himself at last, and making a proposal to Clare, and feeling apparently as cool in the matter as if he were going to buy a horse at Tattersall's.
Miss Collingwood was at home and disengaged; Miss Violet and Mrs. Beverley were out driving; so all seemed to favour the object he had in view, and he was ushered into the drawing-room. His name was announced; but Clare, who was seated at a writing-table, with a somewhat abstracted air, did not hear it, as she was intently perusing a tiny note she had just written. She seemed agitated, too, for her eyes bore unmistakable traces of tears.
Agitation was so unusual with her, and indeed with anyone Desmond met in society, that he paused with some surprise, standing irresolutely near her, hat in hand; and as he watched the contour of her head with a gleam of sunshine in her braided hair, the curve of her shoulders, the pure beauty of her profile, the grace of the tender white neck encircled by its frill of tulle, and the quick movement of the lovely little hand, as she rapidly closed and addressed the note, he thought what a creditable-looking wife she would be to show the world—aye, even the world of London.
There seemed something of a sad expression on her usually serene face; but he knew not then that her heart was beating with a new joy—yea, that 'it throbbed like a bird's heart when it is wild with the first breath of spring.'