George became highly delighted with Matilda which, he remarked, was a sweet, old-fashioned name, suggesting to him somehow the odour of lilac and honeysuckle. He congratulated himself frequently upon having thrown over that designing young woman, Nellie, just in time; and, at the expiration of eighteen months of indolence, he informed her--for in such a matter he disdained all questions--of the social position that awaited her. She was capable of improvement, he admitted, and no doubt she would improve. Grace she would acquire by watching him. The heavy tramping about the house might be exchanged for a gentle footfall by the use of more appropriate footwear. He begged her to bear these things in mind, and above all never to forget that out of all the women in the world he had selected her. Matilda appeared quite satisfied. So did her mother, who was deep in debt, and had no scruples against adding to the burden, when informed by her future son-in-law that his resources were practically unlimited. "It has just occurred to me I have a property on Dartmoor worth a couple of thousand," he said in the grand manner, well suited to his wealth and indolence. "I have not been near it for the last two years. It's a fine house--a beautiful Elizabethan mansion--but it has a somewhat peculiar history," he added. "Is there a ghost?" asked Matilda's mother, who was greatly impressed by everything George said. "There are several ghosts," he replied. "Don't ye ask me to live there then," said Matilda, with her giggle which ought to have been illegal. "Nothing would induce me to go near the place," said George with perfect truth. "I ought to have sold it long ago, but these little things escape one's memory. I will dispose of it at once, and buy a cottage, with a bit of land. I shall keep bees and prune the rose trees; while you look after the poultry and the cow, do the cooking, mind the house, and attend to me." Matilda was a poor mathematician, but even to her this did not appear a fair division of labour. Already she was running up a little account against her future husband. His courtship was not of that vigorous order she had a right to expect; his indolence seemed to her a type curable only by the constant application of a broomstick; his craving for tea and tobacco, unless checked, might easily become morbid. Matilda possessed some wits; not many, but ingenious ones; and, until George was safely tied to her by matrimony, she was going to pretend she had no conversation.