Nan could scarce believe her eyes. Who was this Mrs Judson who had thrust herself between them? And did the prospective ‘not caring a pin what the world said about marrying her,’ mean that he was afraid and ashamed to marry her _now_? The very thought brought the hot blood tumultuously to her cheeks. Her impulse was to write breaking off the engagement at once; however, when the first burst of natural indignation was past, her practical good sense asserted itself, and she wrote a short note, requesting him to hasten down to Lochenbreck, as something of the most vital importance to them both had to be at once decided. This she posted, and awaited her lover’s arrival—with impatience certainly—but not of a pleasing kind. When Alfred got the letter, he was a little startled. Justly enough, he attributed it to something he had said in his last epistle to her; and in going over its contents in his mind, he had no difficulty in fixing on the paragraph just quoted as being the cause of offence. ‘Poor Nan!’ he thought. ‘A case of jealousy, I suppose—the twenty-thousand-pounds young lady. How ridiculous of her! Didn’t I say the thing was impossible! However, I must run down and see her. A kiss, a caress, and a few soft words, will put her all right. Really, now, I do like Nan; and I’ll make things all right for her one of these days. But she must have patience: she forgets what a sacrifice I am making, all for her sake. To marry an innkeeper’s daughter! when, I may say, I have the pick and choice of the eligibles of London society, seems like lunacy. Oh, but I’ll be true to her, all the same! But she must learn her position; give up any selfish ideas of an early foolish marriage, and learn to wait patiently till it suits my convenience and interest.’ He arrived at Lochenbreck railway station by the morning express. The wagonette was there to meet him, but no Nan. He jumped in; and whirling through the keen frosty air, cracking jokes with the driver the while, he arrived in excellent spirits at the little old-fashioned inn. To Nan’s great relief, her father had gone to Castle Douglas market; she hated ‘scenes’ of any kind and under any circumstances; but she thought she could bear the one before her better, if her father was not present and was never to hear of it afterwards. After having dinned the praises of his prospective son-in-law in his ears for months, how could she now turn round and say she had discovered him to be a vain, conceited, selfish coxcomb? She had little hope of this interview putting matters right between them, and, to be prepared for the worst, had collected all his letters—all the little nicknacks he had given her—and parcelled them up ready to hand to him.