In a minute she ushered him into the little sitting-room, saying nervously:
“Mr. Varian—my brother, Mr. Dawn.”
CHAPTER VII.
“THE FATES FORBID IT.”
Arthur Varian gave a slight start of surprise as he was presented to Mr. Dawn, but the latter, more prepared for the encounter, bowed with gracious courtesy, frankly shook hands with the visitor, and pushed forward a chair.
Then they looked at each other silently a moment, and that glance prepossessed each in favor of the other—a natural sequence for Arthur, since he guessed that his new acquaintance must be Cinthia’s father.
They conversed several moments on indifferent subjects, both rather grave and constrained, with a feeling of something serious in the air, then Arthur came to the point with manly frankness:
“I have found you here most opportunely this morning, Mr. Dawn. I came to see Mrs. Flint on a particular subject, but of course you are the proper person to consult,” ingratiatingly.
“Cinthia has already told me of your suit for her hand, Mr. Varian,” gently helping him out, as if anxious for it to be over.
“You know, then, that I love your daughter—that she has promised me her hand. I can give you every assurance, sir, of my possession of those requisites every good man wishes to find in a suitor for his daughter. I am rich, of the best blood of the South, my character irreproachable. May I hope to have your approval?”
He spoke diffidently, yet eagerly and with superb manliness, his dark-blue eyes shining with hope, his cheek glowing with honest pride that he had so much to offer to the lady of his choice. Without vanity, he knew that he was, in worldly parlance, an eligible parti. No thought of refusal crossed his mind.