It had actually come.  She remembered how she had told herself that, though she could never dream of marrying, it really would be very pleasant to be asked.  But now that the proposal had been made she felt most horribly embarrassed.  What in the world was she to say to the man?  She knew him not one bit better than she had done when she saw him last.  He puzzled her more than ever.  He did not look like a despairing lover, but a singularly plump and prosperous gentleman; and certainly the silver-grey frock-coat, and gold eye-glass, and varnished shoes struck her as singularly out of harmony with the extraordinary speech he had just delivered.  Yet it was evidently impromptu, and possibly would never have been delivered at all had not she herself so blunderingly led up to it.  And it was not a bad speech in its way.  There was something really effective about it—­or perhaps it was in the manner of its delivery.  So she sat in silence, most dreadfully ill at ease, and not finding a single word wherewith to answer him.

“Charlotte,” said Mr Ogilvie in a low voice, bending over her, “Charlotte.”

“Mr Ogilvie!” gasped the unhappy lady, almost frightened out of her wits.

“You once called me Granville,” he murmured, trying to take her hand.

“But I can’t do it again!” cried Aunt Charlotte, shaking her head vigorously.  “It wouldn’t be proper.  We are just two old people, you see, and—­and——­”

“H’m!” Mr Ogilvie straightened himself again.  “It is true I am no longer in my first youth, and time has certainly left its mark upon my lineaments; but you, dear friend, are one of those whose charms intensify with years.”  Here he took out a white pocket-handkerchief, and passed it lightly across his eyes.  “But I have startled you, and I am sorry.  I have sprung upon you, suddenly and thoughtlessly, what I ought to have only hinted at.  I have erred from lack of delicacy.  Forgive me my impulsiveness, my ardour.  I was ever a blunt man, little versed in the arts of diplomacy and finesse.  For years I have looked forward to this moment; in my dreams, in my waking hours, in——­”

“Pardon me one moment,” said Aunt Charlotte, starting to her feet.  “I know I’m sadly rude to interrupt you, but I hear my nephew in the hall, and I must just say a word to him before he comes in.  I’ll be back immediately.  You will forgive me—­won’t you?”

She floundered to the door, leaving Mr Ogilvie no little disconcerted at his appeal being thus cut short.  Austin had just come in, and was in the act of hanging up his hat when his aunt appeared.

“Well, auntie!” he said.  “And has the gentleman arrived?”

“Hush!” breathed Aunt Charlotte, as she pointed a warning finger to the door.  “He’s in the drawing-room.  Austin, you’ve come back in the very nick of time.  Don’t ask me any questions.  My dear, you were right after all.”

“Ah!” was all Austin said.  “Well?”