Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again.  Mr. Wentworth bent his refined eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the “Advertiser.”  “I ought to have brought a bouquet,” said Felix, laughing.  “In France they always do.”

“We are not in France,” observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte earnestly gazed at him.

“No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a harder time of it.  My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that delightful service?” And Felix bent toward her as if some one had been presenting him.

Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth thought this might be the beginning of a discussion.  “What is the bouquet for?” he inquired, by way of turning it off.

Felix gazed at him, smiling.  “Pour la demande!” And then, drawing up a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious solemnity.

Presently he turned to Charlotte again.  “My good Charlotte, my admirable Charlotte,” he murmured, “you have not played me false—­you have not sided against me?”

Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly.  “You must speak to my father yourself,” she said.  “I think you are clever enough.”

But Felix, rising too, begged her to remain.  “I can speak better to an audience!” he declared.

“I hope it is nothing disagreeable,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“It ’s something delightful, for me!” And Felix, laying down his hat, clasped his hands a little between his knees.  “My dear uncle,” he said, “I desire, very earnestly, to marry your daughter Gertrude.”  Charlotte sank slowly into her chair again, and Mr. Wentworth sat staring, with a light in his face that might have been flashed back from an iceberg.  He stared and stared; he said nothing.  Felix fell back, with his hands still clasped.  “Ah—­you don’t like it.  I was afraid!” He blushed deeply, and Charlotte noticed it—­remarking to herself that it was the first time she had ever seen him blush.  She began to blush herself and to reflect that he might be much in love.

“This is very abrupt,” said Mr. Wentworth, at last.

“Have you never suspected it, dear uncle?” Felix inquired.  “Well, that proves how discreet I have been.  Yes, I thought you would n’t like it.”

“It is very serious, Felix,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“You think it ’s an abuse of hospitality!” exclaimed Felix, smiling again.

“Of hospitality?—­an abuse?” his uncle repeated very slowly.

“That is what Felix said to me,” said Charlotte, conscientiously.

“Of course you think so; don’t defend yourself!” Felix pursued.  “It is an abuse, obviously; the most I can claim is that it is perhaps a pardonable one.  I simply fell head over heels in love; one can hardly help that.  Though you are Gertrude’s progenitor I don’t believe you know how attractive she is.  Dear uncle, she contains the elements of a singularly—­I may say a strangely—­charming woman!”