Perhaps Foxwell and his friends underwent some self-reproach. However that be, it is certain they had the delicacy to refrain from spying or intruding upon the lovers during the week for which Everell had so devotedly bargained. The party of four went their way, and the party of two, attended by the faithful Prudence, went theirs, both parties meeting twice or thrice each day at meals. On these occasions, a pleasant courtesy prevailed, and there was no rallying of the lovers, no inquisitive observation of them. Indeed it is doubtful if the feelings of young lovers were ever more nicely considered. The two found themselves always favoured by that conspiracy which good-natured people customarily form for the benefit of a young lady and her favoured suitor. Everell found that he was not even expected to remain at the table with the other gentlemen after the ladies had gone, nor was it required that he and Georgiana should join the latter at the tea-table or at cards. The lovers’ chief place of resort within the house was the library, a room quite neglected by the others, who preferred only the newest plays, poems, and magazines for their reading. In good weather the lovers sat in the old garden, or strolled in the park, Foxwell and his visitors going farther afield for their outdoor amusements, and receiving no company from the neighbourhood. Thus the young couple, from their meeting at breakfast to their parting at night, passed all the hours together, in a singular freedom from observant eyes. We shall imitate Foxwell and his friends in this abstention from prying; not because the love-making of the two young people is sacred from us, but because such love-making, interesting as it is to the participants, is sadly tedious to the spectator. The love-stories of actual people are interesting for the events that give rise to their love, and to which their love gives rise; not (excepting the critical moments of the awakening, the unintentional disclosure, the first confession, and such) for the regular course of its own manifestation. The reader who has dreaded the slow account of a week’s love-making—the sighs, the gazes, the silences, the hand-holdings, the poutings, the forgivings, and all the rest—may breathe freely. The peculiar pathos of the situation of these young lovers—a pathos as yet perceptible only to Everell—did not much alter their conduct from that of other young lovers. For Everell made fair shift to put the future out of sight, to regard only the day: he was resolved not to look forward till the last hour of his term should arrive. As long as he was with Georgiana, he could keep to this: ’twas only when he had retired to his own chamber that visions of the approaching end would harass him in the darkness; only then would he count the hours that yet remained.