The situation looked desperate, and I must call on Wednesday, or drown myself in the icy waters off Long Wharf on Thursday. Water below a reasonable temperature was particularly repugnant to me, and I did not relish the alternative. I wondered if she would be glad to see me. I tried to determine whether her gracious demeanor towards me during that important evening had been dictated by mere politeness, or by a genuine interest in me. I was vain enough to flatter myself that I had made an impression upon her gushing heart. In my native town I had been accounted a good-looking fellow, as revealed to me through sundry “compliments.” I thought I was not bad looking, and I consulted my mirror on this momentous question. The result was satisfactory, and I was quite willing to believe that Miss Lilian ought to be pardoned for feeling an interest in me.
On Wednesday afternoon I walked by her father’s house seven times, and probably I should have passed it seven times more, if on the eighth I had not seen Lilian at the window. The stars favored me. The dear divinity saw me; she smiled, she bowed to me, and I thought she blushed. Whether she did or not, I blushed, and the die was cast. The thrilling glance the fair being bestowed upon me inspired me with a resolution equal to the occasion. I rushed to the door, and before I had time to change my purpose, I rang the bell.
I was admitted. I asked for Miss Lilian Oliphant, and was shown into the parlor in which she was seated. My heart throbbed like the beatings of the ocean in a tempest, and my face felt as if a blast of fire had swept over it; but I survived. I was more than fascinated; I was infatuated with the fair being before me. I am free to say that no such vision of loveliness was ever realized before or since in my experience.
“This is a very unexpected pleasure, Mr. Glasswood,” said she, more self-possessed than I was.
“I beg your pardon for calling,” I stammered.
“I’m sure you needn’t do that, for I’m very glad to see you, sir,” she replied, kindly helping me out.
“I didn’t—really—I thought—it’s a beautiful day, Miss Oliphant.”
“Splendid day!” laughed she; but I saw that she was beginning to be embarrassed.
I ventured to hint that I had spent a very pleasant evening at her house on the preceding Friday; and she was kind enough to say she had enjoyed it very much, and hoped I would call again soon with my friend, Tom Flynn, and have another game of whist.
“I played so badly then that I shall hardly dare to try again,” I replied. I was—really, I was—”