not know what he wished to say.

He was a man who always kept a lookout on the bows of his daily action;
in storm or in calm, in fog or in bright sunshine that lookout must be
at his post; and upon his reports it depended whether Mr Croft set more
sail, put on more steam, reversed his engine, or anchored his vessel. A
report from this lookout was what he hoped to elicit by the remark
which he wished to make. He desired greatly to know whether Miss Roberta
March looked upon him in the light of a lover, or in that of an intimate
acquaintance, whose present intimacy depended a good deal upon the
propinquity of Midbranch and the Green Sulphur Springs. He had
endeavored to produce upon her mind the latter impression. If he ever
wished her to regard him as a lover he could do this in the easiest and
most straightforward way, but the other procedure was much more
difficult, and he was not certain that he had succeeded in it. How to
find out in what light she viewed him without allowing the lady to
perceive his purpose was a very delicate operation.

"I wish," said Miss Roberta, poking with the end of her parasol at some
half-withered wild flowers which lay on the steps beneath her, "that you
would change your mind, and take supper with us."

Mr Croft's mind was very busy in endeavoring to think of some casual
remark, some observation regarding man, nature, or society, or even an
anecdote or historical incident, which, if brought into the
conversation, might produce upon the lady's countenance some shade of
expression, or some variation in her tone or words which would give him
the information he sought for. But what he said was: "Are they really
suppers that you have, or are they only teas?"