I never had a chance before.

Now, don't dare disappoint me!" Patty looked very sweet and coaxing, and her voice was earnestly pleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.
Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.
"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think you can't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius ought to burn by this time.

If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,--but it will disappoint me horribly." The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarf round her shoulders and seemed about to rise.
"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "a moment,--just a moment,--stay, I have it!" He began to scribble rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him.
Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in his eyes, and an exalted expression on his face.
He wrote fast, but not steadily, now and then pausing, as if waiting for the right word, and then doing two or three lines without hesitation.

Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to be finished.
"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made for you.

Shall I read it to you ?" "Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.
In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney read these lines: "I loved her .-- Why?
I never knew .-- Perhaps Because her face was fair; perhaps because Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air;-- Perhaps.