Frank rose to take his leave.
"No, no," said Mr. Vanstone, detaining him. "Don't go. These people
won't stop long. Mr. Marrable's a merchant at Bristol. I've met him once
or twice, when the girls forced me to take them to parties at Clifton.
Mere acquaintances, nothing more. Come and smoke a cigar in the
greenhouse. Hang all visitors--they worry one's life out. I'll appear
at the last moment with an apology; and you shall follow me at a safe
distance, and be a proof that I was really engaged."
Proposing this ingenious stratagem in a confidential whisper, Mr.
Vanstone took Frank's arm and led him round the house by the back way.
The first ten minutes of seclusion in the conservatory passed without
events of any kind. At the end of that time, a flying figure in bright
garments flashed upon the two gentlemen through the glass--the door was
flung open--flower-pots fell in homage to passing petticoats--and Mr.
Vanstone's youngest daughter ran up to him at headlong speed, with every
external appearance of having suddenly taken leave of her senses.
"Papa! the dream of my whole life is realized," she said, as soon as she
could speak. "I shall fly through the roof of the greenhouse if somebody
doesn't hold me down.
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