It may be feared that Ralph had no such deep sense of his fault as that suggested. He did remember well enough,--had reflected more than once or twice,--on those words which he had spoken to Clary. Having spoken them he had felt his crime to be their not unnatural accompaniment. At that moment, when he was on the lawn at Fulham, he had thought that it would be very sweet to devote himself to dear Clary,--that Clary was the best and prettiest girl he knew, that, in short, it might be well for him to love her and cherish her and make her his wife. Had not Patience come upon the scene, and disturbed them, he would probably then and there have offered to her his hand and heart. But Patience had come upon the scene, and the offer had not been, as he thought, made. Since all that, which had passed ages ago,--weeks and weeks ago,--there had fallen upon him the prosaic romance of Polly Neefit. He had actually gone down to Hendon to offer himself as a husband to the breeches-maker's daughter. It is true he had hitherto escaped in that quarter also,--or, at any rate, had not as yet committed himself. But the train of incidents and thoughts which had induced him to think seriously of marrying Polly, had made him aware that he could not propose marriage to Sir Thomas Underwood's daughter. From such delight as that he found, on calm reflection, that he had debarred himself by the folly of his past life. It was well that Patience had come upon the scene. Such being the state of affairs with him, that little episode with Clary being at an end,--or rather, as he thought, never having quite come to a beginning,--and his little arrangement as to Polly Neefit being in abeyance, he was free to amuse himself with this newcomer. Miss Bonner was certainly the most lovely girl he had ever seen. He could imagine no beauty to exceed hers. He knew well enough that her loveliness could be nothing to him;--but a woman's beauty is in one sense as free as the air in all Christian countries. It is a light shed for the delight, not of one, but of many. There could be no reason why he should not be among the admirers of Miss Bonner. "I expect, you know, to be admitted quite on the terms of an old friend," he said. "I shall call you Mary, and all that kind of thing." "I don't see your claim," said Miss Bonner. "Oh yes, you do,--and must allow it. I was almost a sort of son of Sir Thomas's,--till he turned me off when I came of age. And Patience and Clarissa are just the same as sisters to me." "You are not even a cousin, Mr. Newton." "No;--I'm not a cousin. It's more like a foster-brother, you know. Of course I shan't call you Mary if you tell me not. How is it to be?" "Just for the present I'll be Miss Bonner." "For a week or so?" "Say for a couple of years, and then we'll see how it is." "You'll be some lucky's fellow's wife long before that. Do you like living at Fulham?"