Blanche said it. Anne's eyes fastened on her face, with one long,
yearning look, and then Anne's hand suddenly dropped hers.

She ran out of the room, more agitated, more uneasy, than she liked
to confess to herself. Never had she felt so certain of the urgent
necessity of appealing to Sir Patrick's advice as she felt at that
moment.



The guests were still safe at the luncheon-table when Blanche entered
the dining-room.

Lady Lundie expressed the necessary surprise, in the properly graduated
tone of reproof, at her step-daughter's want of punctuality. Blanche
made her apologies with the most exemplary humility. She glided into her
chair by her uncle's side, and took the first thing that was offered to
her. Sir Patrick looked at his niece, and found himself in the company
of a model young English Miss--and marveled inwardly what it might mean.

The talk, interrupted for the moment (topics, Politics and Sport--and
then, when a change was wanted, Sport and Politics), was resumed
again all round the table. Under cover of the conversation, and in
the intervals of receiving the attentions of the gentlemen, Blanche
whispered to Sir Patrick, "Don't start, uncle. Anne is in the library."
(Polite Mr. Smith offered some ham. Gratefully declined.) "Pray, pray,
pray go to her; she is waiting to see you--she is in dreadful trouble."
(Gallant Mr. Jones proposed fruit tart and cream. Accepted with thanks.)
"Take her to the summer-house: I'll follow you when I get the chance.
And manage it at once, uncle, if you love me, or you will be too late."