Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 91: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

82 “. CANNOT MARRY YOU.” Arthur was not surprised at this information, as he had caught a glimpse of the old man’s bald head, nodding over the evening paper at the club not twenty minutes before, but had carefully avoided him for reasons of his own. ‘‘Aunt Helen has gone to bed with a headache, and papa is out, but can I entertain you for a little while? Iam sorry——”’ Miss Clayton had entered noiselessly and stood beside him. Arthur dropped the bit of Gubbio ware he had been examining and murmured his regrets as he shook hands with her. But his eyes belied him (though she wisely asked no information of them), and his pulse beat high and his cheek grew warm at the thought of a tete-a-tete with her. She was laughing and flushed, a picture to gaze upon, in her trailing blue silk, and dainty Louis Quinze slippers. She seemed in excellent spirits that evening, better than he had ever seen her, and her light laughter rang out fre- quently—too frequently, Arthur thought, as he himself felt so serious. Perhaps he showed something of his state of mind in his face, and she, woman-like, was determined to bring his spirits up to the same key as her own. Possibly —but no, she could not suspect what he had come to say, or she would not be sitting there chatting unconcernedly about everything under the sun, and not give him a chance to speak. Moreover, he believed—well, he would make an opportunity. ‘‘Miss Clayton,’’ said he, at last, during a pause in the conversation, ‘‘do you know how many times I have been here?”’ ‘‘What an odd question!’ she exclaimed, gayly. ‘‘No, I confess I haven’t kept track; it isn’t polite. A dozen, per- haps.’”’ Gomichbookssco