CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
NEARER STILL.
BLANCHE stepped lightly into the room, through one of the open French windows.
"What are you doing here ?" she said to Arnold.
"Nothing.

I was just going to look for you in the garden." "The garden is insufferable, this morning." Saying those words, she fanned herself with her handkerchief, and noticed Geoffrey's presence in the room with a look of very thinly-concealed annoyance at the discovery.

"Wait till I am married!" she thought.

"Mr.Delamayn will be cleverer than I take him to be, if he gets much of his friend's company _then!_" "A trifle too hot--eh ?" said Geoffrey, seeing her eyes fixed on him, and supposing that he was expected to say something.
Having performed that duty he walked away without waiting for a reply; and seated himself with his letter, at one of the writing-tables in the library.
"Sir Patrick is quite right about the young men of the present day," said Blanche, turning to Arnold.

"Here is this one asks me a question, and doesn't wait for an answer.