"I say, Howard; what a remarkably nice girl Emma Watson is—and so pretty."
"Undoubtedly, my lord," was the reply, given rather reluctantly, and with evident embarrassment.
"I don't know that I ever liked any girl half so well," continued the young lover; "don't you think she would make a famous wife?"
Another reluctant assent was Mr. Howard's reply.
"Do you know I mean to marry her?" this was a great effort; and having made this declaration, he drew a long breath.
"You mean, my lord, to propose to her? or have you done so already?" enquired Howard, in as steady a voice as he could command.
"Oh not yet; that's the worst part of it—confound it, I wish I could get out of that. I say, Howard, you could not do it for me, could you? would not that do as well?"
"I fear not," replied he, gravely; "I am afraid I could not trust myself; I might make some blunder which would ruin the suit, and the blame of miscarriage would fall on me."
"Well, I suppose I must do my best some day—she's so monstrous good-natured, that I am not so much afraid of her as of many women; but I would bet you a hundred to one, I shall make some unpardonable blunder."
"But, my dear lord, have you considered what the consequences will be if you take this step."