"Creature? Humph! Val isn't over sensible, and he has no backing,--but in his own way he's quite a nice fellow, and has a wonderful appearance when he's dressed. I don't want to see any one look better than Val Purcell turned out for a meet." "He's just a big boy, and no one thinks of him as anything else." "One person does--or at any rate, pretends she does. You may take your oath old granny yonder has an eye on your pretty widow; and the Purcells are too close to the Bolderos not to have a dozen opportunities of meeting, for one that you and your precious George have. I wouldn't mind laying odds upon the rival candidate." Of this conversation we may be sure no echo ever reached other ears, and indeed Lady Butts soon forgot its tenor herself, in her exuberation over George's report of his next step. He returned from the Abbey treading on air. Even the general had been civil--though it transpired at the last moment that the young man had been mistaken for his eldest brother--"but he couldn't go back on me then," chuckled the narrator, "though I'm bound to say he looked a bit blank. He doesn't yet know there are eight of us, and Heaven forfend his looking us up in Debrett!" "Did you get any invitation?" "Rather. To luncheon to-morrow. Beastly things, luncheons,--but I couldn't cadge for anything else. What I did was to say I should be walking past, and ask if I could do anything for anybody in the town?" "My dear George! You don't propose walking all the way to----" "Of course I don't; but I propose being prevented by the superior attractions of Boldero Abbey." "Oh, I see." She laughed and considered. There were many things she wanted to ask, but to ask was to suggest, and suggestions were horribly dangerous. For instance, about the Purcells? Sir Thomas had made her uneasy by his praise of Val Purcell's looks, praise which her own heart endorsed--and George, whose knowledge of the world was extensive, had all along been slow to believe in his own chances of success. He knew what it meant in London to be an eighth son. It was only her repeated assurances of the Boldero's problematic ignorance on this head and her encouragement on every other, which had brought him up to the scratch at all. Thus hints which might have spurred on another man, would quite possibly daunt one alive to his disadvantages and inclined to magnify them. She reverted to Leonore, and he was willing to talk about Leonore to any extent. But on thinking it over afterwards, she could not see that he had in reality very much to say. The little widow had looked as charming as before, but she had not been so talkative. He thought she was shy before her family; once only, when out of their sight for a few minutes, she had brisked up and chattered as at their first meeting; and she certainly did look pleased when on saying "Good-bye," he had added, "till morrow"; but otherwise--the fact was there had been no opportunity for anything else.