Then Flora went to Miss Raymond, and asked her, with more kindness in
her manner than usual, to come to her rooms for some tea; they always
seriously inclined to the consumption of that cheerful herb about this
hour. Isabel clung to her companion as they went out with a meek
helplessness which was sad to see.

Charley had vanished before them. After that first involuntary movement
he had become _nonchalant_ as ever, so I remained alone to ruminate. I
confess, after some thought, I was still in the dark as to where things
would end.

The meeting had been got over somehow, for, when I came down before
dinner, Bruce was sitting on a sofa by Miss Raymond's side.

Why does a man in such a position invariably look as if he were on the
stool of repentance, expiating some misdeed of unutterable shame? He has
sat by the same woman before, when it was only a strong flirtation; more
eyes, curious and spiteful, were upon him then, and he met them with
perfect self-possession. Now that he is in his right, why does he look
blushingly uneasy, as if he would call on the curtains to hide him, and
the cushions to cover him? Have any mortals existed so good, or great,
or wise, as to be exempt from that dreadful poll-tax levied on all males
unprivileged to woo by proxy--the necessity of looking ridiculous from
the moment their engagement is announced to that when they leave the
church as Benedicts? I should like to have watched Burke, or Herschel,
or the Iron Duke, or _any_ Archbishop of Canterbury, through the ordeal
of a recognized courtship. Would the dignity of the statesman, the sage,
the soldier, or the saint have been sustained? I trow not.