No wonder the recipient of so much diplomacy went home radiant. He really—really he,—dashed if he didn't think he had a chance. If he could only work it up—he hummed and hawed and considered. At length: "I'll tell you what, Aunt Laura, it's no use shilly-shallying when there's so little time. If you can bring about one other meeting——"
"I have thought of that, George, and have secured the Merivale girls for golf-croquet on Thursday."
"Bravo! you don't let the grass grow under your feet. Thursday? That's the last day I have here, but I suppose—no, you could not have done anything sooner."
"And I thought you might ride over to-morrow, with my note?"
"I say! That would look a bit pointed, wouldn't it?"
"Perhaps. But since Leonore was so nice to you to-day——"
"Oh, she was. Still——" he hesitated.
"What is it, George?—" a trifle impatiently.
"It's so beastly hard to tell. She's a dear little thing, and if she had been any one else, I should say she was—was——" and he laughed foolishly.
"Épris?"