The features haunted the Duke's memory. He had met this
person before. There are some countenances which when once seen can
never be forgotten, and the young man owned one of these. The Duke
recalled him to his memory with a pang.
Our hero--let him still be ours, for he is rather desolate, and he
requires the backing of his friends--our hero behaved pretty well. He
seized the first favourable opportunity to catch Miss Dacre's eye, and
was grateful for her bow. Emboldened, he accosted her, and asked after
Mr. Dacre. She was courteous, but unembarrassed. Her calmness, however,
piqued him sufficiently to allow him to rally. He was tolerably easy,
and talked of calling. Their conversation lasted only for a few minutes,
and was fortunately terminated without his withdrawal, which would have
been awkward. The young man whom we have noticed came up to claim her
hand.
'Arundel Dacre, or my eyes deceive me?' said the young Duke. 'I always
consider an old Etonian a friend, and therefore I address you without
ceremony.'
The young man accepted, but not with readiness, the offered hand. He
blushed and spoke, but in a hesitating and husky voice.
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