Blakely stopped again.
Something about this little scene was making a deep impression
upon Penrod. What that impression was, he could not possibly have
stated; but he had a sense of the imminence of a tender crisis,
and he perceived that the piquancy of affairs in the library had
reached a point which would brand an intentional interruption as
the act of a cold-blooded ruffian. Suddenly it was as though a
strong light shone upon him: he decided that it was Mr. Blakely
who had told Margaret that her eyes were like blue stars in
heaven--THIS was the person who had caused the hateful letter to
be written! That decided Penrod; his inspiration, so long waited
for, had come.
"I--I feel that perhaps I am not plain," said Mr. Blakely, and
immediately became red, whereas he had been pale. He was at least
modest enough about his looks to fear that Margaret might think
he had referred to them. "I mean, not plain in another sense--
that is, I mean not that _I_ am not plain in saying what I mean
to you--I mean, what you mean to ME! I feel--"
This was the moment selected by Penrod.
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