"I do not think it is papa's step," returned Blanche, bending her ear to listen.
It was not. As she spoke, the door was thrown open by the servant. "Lord Level."
Lord Level entered, and took the hand which Mr. Ravensworth released. Mr. Ravensworth looked full at the peer as he passed him: they were not acquainted. A handsome man, with a somewhat free expression—a countenance that Mr. Ravensworth took forthwith a prejudice against, perhaps unjustly. "Who's that, Blanche?" he heard him say as the servant closed the door.
Lord Level was a fine, powerful man, of good height and figure; his dark auburn hair was wavy and worn rather long, in accordance with the fashion of the day. His complexion was fair and fresh, and his features were good. Altogether he was what the Major had called him, an attractive man. Blanche Heriot had danced with him and he had danced with her; the one implies the other, you will say; and a liking for one another had sprung up. It may not have been love on either side as yet—but that is uncertain.
"How lovely!" exclaimed Blanche, as he held out to her a small bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley, and their sweet perfume caught her senses.
"I brought them for you," whispered Lord Level; and he bent his face nearer and took a silent kiss from her lips. It was the first time; and Blanche blushed consciously.
"You did not tell me who that was, Blanche."
"Arnold Ravensworth," she replied. "You have heard me speak of him."
"An ill-tempered looking man!"
"Do you think so? Well, yes, perhaps he did look cross to-night. He had been hearing about—about us—from papa; and I suppose it did not please him."