In the meantime Harry had seated himself by the side of Lucy, and was
telling her in the delicious, stumbling patois of love all that was in
his heart. She was bewilderingly beautiful; all his thoughts of her had
been far below this intimate observation. Not that he analyzed or
tabulated her charms--that would have been like pulling a rose to
pieces. He only knew that her every glance and word and movement
revealed a new personal grace. He only felt that her dress so daintily
plain and neat and her simplicity and natural candor were the visible
signs of a clear and limpid nature such as gods and men must love.

It was easy for Harry to tell her his love and his wishes. She
understood him at once, and with sweet shy glances answered those two or
three questions which are so generally whispered to a woman's heart and
which hold the secret of her life and happiness. In this wonderful
explanation the hour given was all too short, and Harry was just
beginning to plead for an immediate marriage so that they might see the
world together when Lugur entered the room and said it was the hour at
which they usually closed the--

Harry did not let him finish his request. "Sir," he cried
enthusiastically, "Lucy loves me. She loves me as I love her. I was
just asking her to marry me at once."

"That is an impossible request, Mr. Hatton. Under no circumstances, none
whatever, would I permit Lucy to marry for at the least a year. Many
things must be determined first. For instance, I must have a
conversation with your mother and with Mr. John Hatton, your elder
brother."