It was an excellent opportunity.  The guests were safe in the house—­there was no interruption to be feared, Arnold showed himself.  Sir Patrick (perfectly undisturbed by Lady Lundie’s parting speech) sat down in the summer-house, without noticing his young friend, and asked himself a question founded on profound observation of the female sex.  “Were there ever two women yet with a quarrel between them,” thought the old gentleman, “who didn’t want to drag a man into it?  Let them drag me in, if they can!”

Arnold advanced a step, and modestly announced himself.  “I hope I am not in the way, Sir Patrick?”

“In the way? of course not!  Bless my soul, how serious the boy looks!  Are you going to appeal to me as the head of the family next?”

It was exactly what Arnold was about to do.  But it was plain that if he admitted it just then Sir Patrick (for some unintelligible reason) would decline to listen to him.  He answered cautiously, “I asked leave to consult you in private, Sir; and you kindly said you would give me the opportunity before I left Windygates?”

“Ay! ay! to be sure.  I remember.  We were both engaged in the serious business of croquet at the time—­and it was doubtful which of us did that business most clumsily.  Well, here is the opportunity; and here am I, with all my worldly experience, at your service.  I have only one caution to give you.  Don’t appeal to me as ‘the head of the family.’  My resignation is in Lady Lundie’s hands.”

He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest.  The wry twist of humor showed itself at the corners of his lips.  Arnold was at a loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece without reminding him of his domestic responsibilities on the one hand, and without setting himself up as a target for the shafts of Sir Patrick’s wit on the other.  In this difficulty, he committed a mistake at the outset.  He hesitated.

“Don’t hurry yourself,” said Sir Patrick.  “Collect your ideas.  I can wait!  I can wait!”

Arnold collected his ideas—­and committed a second mistake.  He determined on feeling his way cautiously at first.  Under the circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with), it was perhaps the rashest resolution at which he could possibly have arrived—­it was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat.

“You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your experience,” he began.  “I want a word of advice.”

“Suppose you take it sitting?” suggested Sir Patrick.  “Get a chair.”  His sharp eyes followed Arnold with an expression of malicious enjoyment.  “Wants my advice?” he thought.  “The young humbug wants nothing of the sort—­he wants my niece.”

Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick’s eye, with a well-founded suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before he got up again, under Sir Patrick’s tongue.

“I am only a young man,” he went on, moving uneasily in his chair, “and I am beginning a new life—­”