His lordship had long had a misunderstanding with lord Martin upon the subject of their contiguous estates.  As his temper was not the most gentle, nor his memory upon these subjects the most treacherous, he expressed his triumph in loud shouts, and repeated horse laughs, upon the recent defeat of his antagonist.  Nothing however would content him but a sight of the lady.  “That,” said Mrs. Wilson, “my guess is too nice to consent to.  You must know, she has a particular dislike to your lordship.”  “A dislike to me!” said the old gentleman, whose curiosity was now more inflamed than even “Will you be contented,” said his kind hostess, “with a peep through the key hole!” and without waiting for an answer, she took him by the hand, and led him up stairs.  “By my foul!” said his lordship, “she is the finest woman in the world.  Devil take me, if I can contain myself,” and he burst into the room.

Lord Thomas advanced a few steps, and then stopping, clasped his hands; “Why she is an angel of a woman!  And did Martin, that dirty scoundrel, think he could run away with you?  Impudent, pot-bellied spider!  Ah, if my son had fallen in love with such a woman as you, I could forgive him any thing.”  And seizing her hand he pressed it to his lips.  “Forgive me, charmer,” cried he, “I am an old fellow.  I will do you no harm.”

Delia, though pleased with the behaviour of her intended father-in-law, dared not yet discover herself to him.  In the afternoon, Mr. Godfrey, and Sir William Twyford, arrived.  Damon, agitated as he was by the most dreadful images that a troubled fancy could suggest, appeared in the morning in a high fever.  Instead of being able to hasten to the mistress of his soul, he was confined to his bed, and attended by physicians.

“Ha,” cried lord Thomas, as soon as he saw the baronet, “and who sent for you?  What do you want?  I think, Sir, you are the gentleman to whom I am obliged for telling my son, that duty to parents is a baby prejudice, that obstinacy is a heroic virtue, and that fortune, fame, and friends, are all to be sacrificed to the whining passion, which, I think, you call love.”  “My lord,” replied the baronet, “I have done nothing, of which I feel any reason to be ashamed.  But a subject more pressing calls for my immediate attention.”  Then turning to Delia, “Give me leave to congratulate you, madam, and heaven can tell how heartily I do it, upon the generous and happy interposition of Mr. Godfrey.”  “And pray,” interrupted lord Thomas, “how came you acquainted with that lady?” “Oh, tell me,” cried Delia, with an impatience not to be restrained by modes and forms, “tell me, how does my Damon?  Why is he not here?  Alas, I fear”—­“Fear nothing,” cried the baronet.  “He is safe.  He is at your father’s house, and impatient to see you.”  “And is this the lady,” cried lord Thomas, “of whom my son is enamoured?  But he shall not disobey me.  I will never permit it.  Sir, if this be the lady, I will give her to him with my own hand.