“That is to say,” resumed Thornby, “never till a few days ago. Ecod, it seems more than a few days, one way I look at it! I mean, I saw your niece—yes, you, Miss Foxwell, I say it to your face. Now the secret’s out. I hadn’t thought to come to the point so soon—I thought to go softly, and court the young lady awhile, and so forth—but hang me if I desire to wait and give somebody else a chance to carry off such a prize.—Well, what d’ye say, Miss Foxwell?” Georgiana was quite too confounded to say anything. “She says you do us a great honour, Mr. Thornby,” put in Foxwell, discreetly; “a very great honour. My niece, I am sure, is fully sensible of the honour. But are you aware how small her fortune is?” “Hang fortunes! I’ve enough for two!” cried Thornby. “And then, sir,” went on Foxwell, with quiet frankness, “upon her marriage, you must know, the division of our estate will leave me rather ill provided for. That would not influence me, were she not so young; but, as it is, she can very well afford to wait two or three years, during which I may improve my affairs.” “You sha’n’t suffer, Foxwell,” said the Squire, bluntly: “you shall come out of the affair as well provided for as both of you now are together. But what does the lady say?” “The lady says, no!” And emphatically she said it, too, now that she had found her voice. “I thank you very much, Mr. Thornby; but ’tis not to be heard of!” “Oh, come now, Miss Foxwell! Don’t be so determined all in a moment. Consider it—be kind—be—be neighbourly!” “’Tis not to be heard of, I assure you, Mr. Thornby. No, no, no, I say! I will never consider it—I will never—” As Thornby still barred her path to the stairs, she turned suddenly and hastened from the hall by the way she had entered. After making sure she was not followed, she rejoined Everell, with an excuse for postponing her quest of the miniature. She trusted to her uncle to soften the refusal of Thornby’s offer; for she could not but think, although she had nobody’s word for it, that Foxwell had decided to favour Everell as her suitor—a turn she attributed to some assurance of Everell’s prospects in France, which, she supposed, the fugitive had given Foxwell on the night of the capture. Indeed in no other way could she account for the strange situation that existed; she was glad enough to accept without question a state of affairs in which she found joy for the present and hope for the future. But her exit from the hall did not finish the scene there. Thornby, after staring open-mouthed a moment, addressed himself to Foxwell: “Ecod, why should she fly out like that—well, well, I haven’t the gift of fine speech. You have that, Foxwell, and I look to you to persuade her, d’ye hear? I’ll make it worth your while. The day I marry her, you shall have back that there letter we both know of; but if she won’t have me, damme if I know what use I sha’n’t make of it!”