Margaret made it clear, later, that she strongly preferred to conduct her conversations with friends unassisted--and as Penrod listened to the faltering words of Mr.Claude Blakely, he felt instinctively that, in a certain contingency, Margaret's indignation would be even more severe to-day than on the former occasion.
Mr.Blakely coughed faintly and was able to continue.
"I mean to say that when I say that what Tennyson says--ah--seems to--to apply to--to a feeling about you--" At this point, finding too little breath in himself to proceed, in spite of the fact that he had spoken in an almost inaudible tone, Mr.Blakely stopped again.
Something about this little scene was making a deep impression upon Penrod.

What that impression was, he could not possibly have stated; but he had a sense of the imminence of a tender crisis, and he perceived that the piquancy of affairs in the library had reached a point which would brand an intentional interruption as the act of a cold-blooded ruffian.

Suddenly it was as though a strong light shone upon him: he decided that it was Mr.Blakely who had told Margaret that her eyes were like blue stars in heaven--THIS was the person who had caused the hateful letter to be written! That decided Penrod; his inspiration, so long waited for, had come.
"I--I feel that perhaps I am not plain," said Mr.Blakely, and immediately became red, whereas he had been pale.

He was at least modest enough about his looks to fear that Margaret might think he had referred to them.

"I mean, not plain in another sense--that is, I mean not that _I_ am not plain in saying what I mean to you--I mean, what you mean to ME! I feel--" This was the moment selected by Penrod.