He applied constantly for ten years, and met the same answer. Proprietor died, the cows turned to ox-beef, and were eaten in London along with flour and a little turmeric, and washed down with Spanish licorice-water, salt, gentian and a little burned malt. Widow inherited, made hay, and refused F. the meadow because her husband had always refused him. But in the tenth year of her siege she assented, for the following reasons: _primo,_ she had said “no” so often the word gave her a sense of fatigue; _secundo,_ she liked variety, and thought a change for the worse must be better than no change at all. Her tenant instantly cut a channel from the upper part of the stream into his garden, and brought the brook into the lawn, made it write an S upon his turf, then handed it but again upon the meadow “none the worse,” his own comment. These things could be done in the country--_jadis._ It cost Mrs. Bazalgette a struggle to admire the garden and borrowed stream--they were so pretty. She made the struggle and praised all. Lucy, walking behind the pair, watched them with innocent satisfaction. “How fast they are making friends,” thought she, mistaking an armistice for an alliance. “Since the place is so fortunate as to please you, you will stay a week with me, madam, at least.” “A week! No, Mr. Fountain; I really admire your courtesy too much to abuse it.” “Not at all; you will oblige me.” “I cannot bring myself to think so.” “You may believe me. I have a selfish motive.” “Oh, if you are in earnest.” “I will explain. If you are my guest for a week, that will give me a claim to be yours in turn.” And he bent a keen look upon the lady, as much as to say, “Now I shall see whether you dare let me spy on you as you are doing on me.” “I propose an amendment,” said Mrs. Bazalgette, with a merry air of defiance: “for every day I enjoy here you must spend two beneath my roof. On this condition, I will stay a week at Font Abbey.” “I consent,” said Mr. Fountain, a little sharply. He liked the bargain. “I must leave you to Lucy for a minute; I have some orders to give. I like _my_ guests to be comfortable.” With this he retired to his study and pondered. “What is she here for? it is not affection for Lucy; that is all my eye, a selfish toad like her. (How agreeable she can make herself, though.) She heard I was out, and came here to spy directly. That was sharp practice. Better not give her a chance of seeing my game. I disarmed her suspicion by asking her to stay a week, aha! Well, during that week Talboys must not come, that is all; aha! my lady, I won't give those cunning eyes of yours a chance of looking over my hand.” He then wrote a note to Talboys, telling him there was a guest at Font Abbey, a disagreeable woman, “who makes mischief whenever she can. She would be sure to divine our intentions, and use all her influence with Lucy to spite me. You had better stay away till she is gone.” He sent this off by a servant, then pondered again.