“Oh, I think you mistake the girl altogether. From the glimpse I had of her, brief as it was, I could swear she is no prude. There is, indeed, a delicacy and sensibility in her face, but nothing the least sanctimonious. She seems to me a young lady of spirit, a little annoyed about something. No doubt you expected to find such a girl as you describe, and you behaved accordingly: she was quick to take offence, and now you mistake her natural resentment for self-righteous rebuke.” “I know not what my expectations had to do with the matter, but I can see plainly enough her dislike. And, damme, George, can you imagine what a restraint upon my conduct the presence of a young unmarried female will be?” “Then you have only to get her married off your hands as soon as may be,” said Rashleigh. “Her marriage means the division of our estate, and my share then will not suffice to feed a horse upon. But I won’t balk at that, for the sake of freedom, if you’ll find me a man willing to take her with the little she’ll have.” “I grant, gentlemen of any fashion want a good settlement with their wives, in this age. But consider her beauty:—that is an item on account of which I, for one, would vastly abate my demands—if I were fool enough to marry at all.” “She wouldn’t have you, fool or no fool. I can see she will be as fastidious when it comes to mating as if she had ten thousand a year. I fear this region will not furnish a man to her liking—I can commend her good taste in that. So heaven knows when I may be rid of her! But enough of the chit: I’m saddled with her, and there’s an end. You must do something for me, George,—you and Lady Strange and her friend.” “Speaking for myself, I’m entirely at your service.” “You must make me a visit at Foxwell Court,—now. Yes, you must. Your time is your own, I am sure. It matters not whether you arrive in town this month or the next. While I have you, I will hold you. When we have dined, you will drive on with me, not to London, but to Foxwell Court. You’ll give me a week—nay, a fortnight, at least—of civilized company, for humanity’s sake.” “Why,” said Rashleigh, “’tis rather a change of plan—though I see nothing against it, for my part. If the ladies are willing—” “They _must_ be willing,” cried Foxwell. “You must persuade them:—if naught else will do, you must be taken ill and be unable to go on to London. Egad, I’ll poison you all with the bad wine they keep here, ere I let you escape me!” “Nay, let me try persuasion first. I can commend you to them as a host—I know of old that you’ll stop at nothing that has promise of amusement in it.”