When they had entered the park-gates, Sir Harry spoke. "You must understand, George"--he had not called him George before since the engagement had been made known to him--"that you cannot yet be admitted here as my daughter's accepted suitor, as might have been the case had your past life been different." "I see all that," said Cousin George. "It is right that I should tell you so; but I trust implicitly to Emily's high sense of duty and propriety. And now that you are here, George, I trust that it may be for your advantage and for ours." Then he pressed his cousin's hand, if not with affection, at least with sincerity. "I'm sure it is to be all right now," said George, calculating whether he would be able to escape to London for a few days, so that he might be able to arrange that little matter with Mr. Hart. They couldn't suppose that he would be able to leave London for two years without a day's notice! Sir Harry got out of the carriage at the front door, and desired Cousin George to follow him into the house. He turned at once into the small room where George had drunk the sherry, and desired that Lady Elizabeth might be sent to him. "My dear," said he, "I have brought George back with me. We will do the best that we can. Mrs. Quick will have a room for him. You had better tell Emily, and let her come to me for a moment before she sees her cousin." This was all said in George's hearing. And then Sir Harry went, leaving his cousin in the hands of Lady Elizabeth. "I am glad to see you back again, George," she said, with a melancholy voice. Cousin George smiled, and said, that "it would be all right." "I am sure I hope so, for my girl's sake. But there must be a great change, George." "No end of a change," said Cousin George, who was not in the least afraid of Lady Elizabeth. Many things of moment had to be done in the house that day before dinner. In the first place there was a long interview between the father and daughter. For a few minutes, perhaps, he was really happy when she was kneeling with her arms upon his knees, thanking him for what he had done, while tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. He would not bring himself to say a word of caution to her. Would it not be to paint the snow white to caution her as to her conduct? "I have done as you bade me in everything," he said. "I have proposed to him that he should go to Scarrowby. It may be that it will be your home for a while, dear." She thanked him and kissed him again and again. She would be so good. She would do all she could to deserve his kindness. And as for George,--"Pray, Papa, don't think that I suppose that it can be all done quite at once." Nevertheless it was in that direction that her thoughts erred. It did seem to her that the hard part of the work was already done, and that now the pleasant paths of virtue were to be trod with happy and persistent feet.