"Impossible, Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Haveloc; "of all torments in the world, to put off--to forego--the uncertainty--you do not consider." "I think, Claude," said Mr. Grey, looking at his breathless companion with a quiet smile, "that I consider this subject a little more leisurely than you do at this moment." "I endeavour to regard the subject with all calmness," said Mr. Haveloc, trembling with impatience; "but I cannot make out the necessity for my undergoing so long an interval of misery as you would assign to me. Pardon me, but I cannot think you a competent judge of Miss Capel's perfections." "Much obliged," said Mr. Grey, quietly. "You are under no suspense," continued Mr. Haveloc. "No one can break the tie which subsists between you and your niece; and therefore you do not view her with the trembling admiration of one who fears to risk everything in the parting from her." "She is a very nice little girl," said Mr. Grey, "I see that plainly enough." "I feel myself very inadequate to pronounce an eulogy upon her exquisite beauty, either of person or mind," said Mr. Haveloc, colouring deeply with indignation at the phrase, 'A nice little girl.' "But no one living rates these perfections higher than I do. And I must confess my extreme reluctance to leave them unguarded to any man who chooses to enter for the prize: any common fellow, who without sincerity and without tenderness, desires to possess what all must covet." "Ought you not," said Mr. Grey who seemed quietly to enjoy the discussion, "ought you not to ascribe to your mistress a little discrimination among all her perfections?" "By no means," said Mr. Haveloc, "it is no merit in a woman." And here he spoke perfect truth; for of all qualities, it is the one which men dislike most bitterly in the fair sex. It is just possible that the greater number of them imagine that they should fare but badly in the opinion of women if they were not able to deceive them readily. "Just put the fire together a little, Claude," said Mr. Grey, "I do not find that this talking is warm work." Mr. Haveloc did as he was desired. "Well now, I suppose you are contented," said Mr. Grey. "If you will ring for a taper, I will write this letter; it is growing very dark. I wonder what o'clock it is in the name of goodness?" "I am not contented, Sir, by any means," said Mr. Haveloc ringing the bell; "but it is nearly seven, and you will not be able to write till after dinner." "Bless me, and I am not dressed," said Mr. Grey, who in all his solitude never omitted that ceremony. "Nor I, Sir," said Mr. Haveloc. "You a lover," said Mr. Grey laughing. "Why, even Benedict brushed his hat o' mornings." "If you would spare me another minute," said Mr. Haveloc. "I am sure, Claude," said Mr. Grey, "I have given you reasons enough. It is not my fault if you will not apply them." "They are very excellent," said Mr. Haveloc; "but certainly an absence of six months would answer every purpose."