[Illustration]

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A PROPOSAL.


Blake waited in the embrasure of the window, gazing down upon the Avenue
below, with its confusion of moving vehicles and pedestrians. The June
sun was overhead, warming the earth with gentle, kindly glow. The breath
of summer was in the air; it came to him, brushing the curtains against
him, cooling his brow. It was grateful to his nostrils, and to his lungs;
and he took of it a great, deep breath. His broad shoulders squared; his
deep, full chest heaved.

An omnibus stopped on the corner. He watched the horses throw themselves
against their collars; he watched the bulky vehicle gather headway, and
move on, with ever increasing momentum, through the maze of brougham and
cab and coach and landau.

As the coach was lost to view there came steps, light and quick, upon the
stairs; the door opened and there stood before him the daughter of Jimmy
Blair. She had been abroad, under chaperonage, for a year....

He did not know that she could be so beautiful--he did not know that
anyone could ever hope to be as beautiful as was she who stood before