In Luck at Last

he is not with him, and occupies his thoughts during the watches of the night in thinking about her, is perilously near to takin

as at th

almost ashamed to write them down, but the infallible symptoms of love? And yet he hesitated, not because he doubted himself any longer, but because he was not independent, and such an engagement might deprive him at one stroke of all that he possessed. Might? It certainly wou

s the kindest of patrons, and she liked nothing so much as the lavishing upon her ward everything that he could desire. But she also, unfortunatel

rs, while she directed his; it was understood that he was her heir, and though she was not more than five and forty or so, and had, apparently, a long life still before her, so that the succession was distant, the prospect gave him impo

ally arrived; he would see her that eveni

do not know where one could find a sweeter girl, or one more eminently calculated to make a man happy. Beautiful, strictly speaking, she is not, perha

atch and found it was past five. "I ought to have been at the station to meet her. I must go round and see her, an

ast beautiful, even when she was young. Now on the middle line, between forty and fifty, she looked as if her face had been chopped out of the marble by a rude but determined artist, one who knew what he wanted and would tolerate no conventional work. So that her face, at all events, was, if not unique, at least unlike a

dio, "I am back again, and I have enjoyed my journey very much; we wil

ed. And you, Clara?

bout dear Stella, did I not? I neve

you lik

ely one may go so far with a young man one loves as to say, 'Here is a girl of a million.' There is not, Arnold, I declare, her equal a

dly; "I dare say I shall discover t

She is not an ordinary girl. You

ssly. "I will try to dra

o her some of my hopes and ambitions for you; and I am free to confes

"But, my dear Clara, I have my profe

ecome an artist-anybody, of course, who has the genius.

st as if he had been Lala

zed as the man most competent to speak on art of every kind. Think of that. It is Stella's idea entirely. This man, when

t me to beco

he art of public speaking; and look about for a wife who will be your right hand. Think of this seriously. This is only a rough sketch, we can fill in the details afterward. But think of it. Oh, my

easel, where Iris's face was like

one you kn

I know. As if I could ever forget them! They are the same eyes, exactly the same eyes. I have never met with any like them befor

ondence. She is my tutor-of course I have so often talked to you about her-

aid your tutor was

is a young lady, and this is her portrait, half-

old, whose telltale cheek flushed. "A young la

he does me the honor to l

her name,

a Miss

is any connection. They were Warwickshire Aglens. But it is impossible-a

r or journalist of some kind, but he is dead; and her grandfat

said, Arnold, that

Clara," he r

ople, but never before had she been angry with him. "Arnold, spare me this nonsense. If you have been playing with this sho

I think," said Arnold gravely; "I

gives you a cup of tea in a shop; the girl who dan

need not mind my calling

, at least: women of my

n is a gen

e, are you mad? Oh, think of my poor unhappy Clau

e suffered. My case, however, is differen

life I have drawn out for you. My de

nd looked in his eyes with a piti

out the life shaped for him by his fate, not by his friends. What

l life, Arnold; I spoke

d love. Yours, Clara, would be of noi

Arnold? You a

hter of some London tradesman; and now her adopted son, almost the only creature she loved, for whom she had schemed and thought for nearly

n old woman, and it is too late for me to learn that a gentleman can be happy unle

te," sai

have you proposed to this-this youn

I hav

love with he

m, C

shop, I dare say, among the seco

serious inte

with him in vain, he took his wife to London, wher

that he repro

mistake. Then he went to America, where he died, no do

to introduce Miss Aglen to you, if she should do me the honor of acceptin

, not even you, Arnold. But I wi

well,

live, Arnold?"

ishing stroke-

t marry; but, of cours

ady to jump into

ion. I understand perfectly well. But, my dear Clara," he laid his arm upon her neck and kissed her, "I shall not

married-then-Oh,

did not. She got into her carriage and drove home. She spent a