Blanche was enchanted.  “How well I must have managed it!” she thought.  “This is what my uncle means, when my uncle talks of ’putting it strongly.’”

She bent down over Anne, and gayly patted her on the shoulder.

“That’s the wisest ‘Yes,’ darling, you ever said in your life.  Wait here—­and I’ll go in to luncheon, or they will be sending to know what has become of me.  Sir Patrick has kept my place for me, next to himself.  I shall contrive to tell him what I want; and he will contrive (oh, the blessing of having to do with a clever man; these are so few of them!)—­he will contrive to leave the table before the rest, without exciting any body’s suspicions.  Go away with him at once to the summer-house (we have been at the summer-house all the morning; nobody will go back to it now), and I will follow you as soon as I have satisfied Lady Lundie by eating some lunch.  Nobody will be any the wiser but our three selves.  In five minutes or less you may expect Sir Patrick.  Let me go!  We haven’t a moment to lose!”

Anne held her back.  Anne’s attention was concentrated on her now.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Are you going on happily with Arnold, Blanche?”

“Arnold is nicer than ever, my dear.”

“Is the day fixed for your marriage?”

“The day will be ages hence.  Not till we are back in town, at the end of the autumn.  Let me go, Anne!”

“Give me a kiss, Blanche.”

Blanche kissed her, and tried to release her hand.  Anne held it as if she was drowning, as if her life depended on not letting it go.

“Will you always love me, Blanche, as you love me now?”

“How can you ask me!”

“I said Yes just now. You say Yes too.”

Blanche said it.  Anne’s eyes fastened on her face, with one long, yearning look, and then Anne’s hand suddenly dropped hers.

She ran out of the room, more agitated, more uneasy, than she liked to confess to herself.  Never had she felt so certain of the urgent necessity of appealing to Sir Patrick’s advice as she felt at that moment.

The guests were still safe at the luncheon-table when Blanche entered the dining-room.

Lady Lundie expressed the necessary surprise, in the properly graduated tone of reproof, at her step-daughter’s want of punctuality.  Blanche made her apologies with the most exemplary humility.  She glided into her chair by her uncle’s side, and took the first thing that was offered to her.  Sir Patrick looked at his niece, and found himself in the company of a model young English Miss—­and marveled inwardly what it might mean.