'You dined with papa yesterday?' said Clare, after a pause. 'I had to deny myself that pleasure, being otherwise engaged; but he had an old _friend_ with him,' replied Desmond, tugging his moustache as he accentuated the word; 'and I have come here with his express permission,' he added; but instead of seating himself, he drew very near, and bent over her, with tenderness in his tone and manner. 'Express permission?' repeated Clare, lifting her clear, bright eyes composedly to his. 'Yes--to take you out for a ride; we may join Sir Carnaby and my sister, who----' He paused, for this was _not_ what he came to say; but he felt an awkwardness in the situation, and the perfect coolness or apparent unconsciousness of Clare put him out, all the more so that now a smile stole over her face. Vanity and admiration of her beauty had made him dangle so much about Clare, that he felt the time was come when 'something must be done.' He had come to do that 'something'--to propose, in short; and now, with all his _insouciance_, he had a doubt that, if it did not give him pain, certainly piqued his pride; and he actually hoped that visitors might interrupt the _tête-à-tête_. But he hoped in vain; the hour was too early for callers. Clare's smile brightened; but there was an undeniable curl on her lovely lip. He had just enough of lazy tenderness in his manner, with something in his tone and eye which seemed to indicate what he had in view, and yet seemed unmistakably to say: 'I can't act the lover, so why the deuce do I come here to talk nonsense?' 'My mail phaeton is at the door; shall I send for my horse and ring for yours?' he asked. 'Excuse me--I have a headache this morning.' 'So sorry; but, perhaps, you may be better amused at home.' 'How, Major?' asked Clare. 'With books, music, or--or correspondence.' At the last word she _did_ colour, he saw, a very little. 'Ladies have a thousand ways of passing time that men don't possess,' he added, lapsing into his habitual bearing, which in his style of man some one describes as 'gentle and resigned weariness.' It actually seemed too much trouble to make love when the matter became serious. There was a pause, after which, for a change of subject, Clare asked about the horse he was to run in the Derby. 'Oh! Crusader is in capital form,' said he with animation, as this was a subject to be approached with ease. 'Though neither a large nor a powerful horse, he is "blood" all over, and there is no better animal in the stud book!' 'I know that he stands high in the betting.' 'How?' 'From the racing column in the _Times_.' 'Ah, you take an interest in my horse, then!' 'Of course,' replied Clare, smiling, thinking of her bets in gloves; 'a very deep interest.'