On the very day when Sir Patrick’s dextrous treatment of his sister-in-law had smoothed the way to the hastening of the marriage, an obstacle was raised to the new arrangement by no less a person than Blanche herself.  She had sufficiently recovered, toward noon, to be able to receive Arnold in her own little sitting-room.  It proved to be a very brief interview.  A quarter of an hour later, Arnold appeared before Sir Patrick—­while the old gentleman was sunning himself in the garden—­with a face of blank despair.  Blanche had indignantly declined even to think of such a thing as her marriage, at a time when she was heart-broken by the discovery that Anne had left her forever.

“You gave me leave to mention it, Sir Patrick—­didn’t you?” said Arnold.

Sir Patrick shifted round a little, so as to get the sun on his back, and admitted that he had given leave.

“If I had only known, I would rather have cut my tongue out than have said a word about it.  What do you think she did?  She burst out crying, and ordered me to leave the room.”

It was a lovely morning—­a cool breeze tempered the heat of the sun; the birds were singing; the garden wore its brightest look.  Sir Patrick was supremely comfortable.  The little wearisome vexations of this mortal life had retired to a respectful distance from him.  He positively declined to invite them to come any nearer.

“Here is a world,” said the old gentleman, getting the sun a little more broadly on his back, “which a merciful Creator has filled with lovely sights, harmonious sounds, delicious scents; and here are creatures with faculties expressly made for enjoyment of those sights, sounds, and scents—­to say nothing of Love, Dinner, and Sleep, all thrown into the bargain.  And these same creatures hate, starve, toss sleepless on their pillows, see nothing pleasant, hear nothing pleasant, smell nothing pleasant—­cry bitter tears, say hard words, contract painful illnesses; wither, sink, age, die!  What does it mean, Arnold?  And how much longer is it all to go on?”

The fine connecting link between the blindness of Blanche to the advantage of being married, and the blindness of humanity to the advantage of being in existence, though sufficiently perceptible no doubt to venerable Philosophy ripening in the sun, was absolutely invisible to Arnold.  He deliberately dropped the vast question opened by Sir Patrick; and, reverting to Blanche, asked what was to be done.

“What do you do with a fire, when you can’t extinguish it?” said Sir Patrick.  “You let it blaze till it goes out.  What do you do with a woman when you can’t pacify her?  Let her blaze till she goes out.”

Arnold failed to see the wisdom embodied in that excellent advice.  “I thought you would have helped me to put things right with Blanche,” he said.