So matters went on for four or five days, and on the evening of the fifth day Captain Broughton and his aunt drank tea at the parsonage. Nothing very especial occurred; but as the parson and Miss La Smyrger insisted on playing backgammon with devoted perseverance during the whole evening, Broughton had a good opportunity of saying a word or two about those changes in his lady-love which a life in London would require—and some word he said also—some single slight word as to the higher station in life to which he would exalt his bride. Patience bore it—for her father and Miss La Smyrger were in the room—she bore it well, speaking no syllable of anger, and enduring, for the moment, the implied scorn of the old parsonage. Then the evening broke up, and Captain Broughton walked back to Oxney Combe with his aunt. “Patty,” her father said to her before they went to bed, “he seems to me to be a most excellent young man.” “Dear papa,” she answered, kissing him. “And terribly deep in love,” said Mr. Woolsworthy. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she answered, as she left him with her sweetest smile. But though she could thus smile at her father’s joke, she had already made up her mind that there was still something to be learned as to her promised husband before she could place herself altogether in his hands. She would ask him whether he thought himself liable to injury from this proposed marriage; and though he should deny any such thought, she would know from the manner of his denial what his true feelings were. And he, too, on that night, during his silent walk with Miss Le Smyrger, had entertained some similar thoughts. “I fear she is obstinate,” he said to himself; and then he had half accused her of being sullen also. “If that be her temper, what a life of misery I have before me!” “Have you fixed a day yet?” his aunt asked him as they came near to her house. “No, not yet; I don’t know whether it will suit me to fix it before I leave.” “Why, it was but the other day you were in such a hurry.” “Ah—yes—I have thought more about it since then.” “I should have imagined that this would depend on what Patty thinks,” said Miss Le Smyrger, standing up for the privileges of her sex. “It is presumed that the gentleman is always ready as soon as the lady will consent.” “Yes, in ordinary cases it is so; but when a girl is taken out of her own sphere—” “Her own sphere! Let me caution you, Master John, not to talk to Patty about her own sphere.” “Aunt Penelope, as Patience is to be my wife and not yours, I must claim permission to speak to her on such subjects as may seem suitable to me.” And then they parted—not in the best humour with each other.