Among the number of those who visited the sisters of Sir Bazil, there was a young lady called Mrs. Blanchfield; she was born in the same town with them, but had been some time in London, on account of the death of an uncle, who had left her a large fortune: she had a great deal of vivacity and good-humour, which rendered both her person and conversation very agreeable; she passed in the eyes of most people for a beauty; but her charms were little taken notice of by Mr. Trueworth, though she behaved towards him in a manner which would have been flattering enough to a man of more vanity, or who had been less engrossed by the perfections of another. By what odd means does fortune sometimes bring about those things she is determined to accomplish! Who could have thought this lady, with whom Mr. Trueworth had no manner of concern, and but a slight acquaintance, should even, unknowing it herself, become the happy instrument of having that done for him which he knew not very well how to contrive for himself? yet so it proved, in effect, as the reader will presently perceive. Happening to call one morning on Sir Bazil while he was dressing 'O Trueworth!' said he, 'I am glad you have prevented me; for I was just going to your lodgings: I have something to acquaint you with, which I fancy you will think deserves your attention.'--'I suppose,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'you would not tell me any thing that was not really so: but, pray, what is it?' 'What! you have made a conquest here, it seems,' resumed Sir Bazil; 'and may say, with Caesar, "Veni, vidi, vici!" Did your guardian angel, or no kind tattling star, give you notice of your approaching happiness, that you might receive the blessing with moderation?--Mr. Trueworth, not able to conceive what it was he meant, but imagining there was some mystery contained in this raillery, desired him to explain; 'For,' said he, 'the happiness you promise cannot come too soon.' 'You will think so,' replied Sir Bazil, 'when I tell you a fine lady, a celebrated toast, and a fortune of twenty thousand pounds in her own hands, is fallen in love with you.'--'With me!' cried Mr. Trueworth; 'you are merry this morning, Sir Bazil?'--'No, faith, I am serious,' resumed the other; 'the lady I speak of is Mrs. Blanchfield. I have heard her say abundance of handsome things of you myself; such as, that you were a very fine gentleman, that you had a great deal of wit, and sung well; but my sisters tell me, that when she is alone with them, she asks a thousand questions about you; and, in fine, talks of nothing else: so that, according to this account, a very little courtship would serve to make you master both of her person and fortune. What say you?'