But as he thought of it all, he was not proud of himself.  He had received great kindness from their hands, and certainly owed them much in return.  When he had been a boy he had been treated almost as one of the family;—­but as he had not been quite one of them, would it not have been natural that he should be absorbed in the manner proposed?  And then he could not but admit to himself that he had been deficient in proper courage when he had been first caught and taken into the cupboard.  On that occasion he had neither accepted nor rejected the young lady; and in such a matter as this silence certainly may be supposed to give consent.  Though he rejoiced in his escape he was not altogether proud of his conduct in reference to his friends at Babington.

Would it not have been better that he should have told his aunt frankly that his heart was engaged elsewhere?  The lady’s name would have been asked, and the lady’s name could not have been given.  But he might in this way have prepared the way for the tidings which would have to be communicated should he finally be successful with Hester Bolton.  Now such news would reach them as an aggravation of the injury.  For that, however, there could be no remedy.  The task at present before him was that of obtaining a footing in the house at Chesterton, and the more he thought of it the more he was at a loss to know how to set about it.  They could not intend to shut such a girl up, through all her young years, as in a convent.  There must be present to the minds of both of them an idea that marriage would be good for her, or, at any rate, that she should herself have some choice in the matter.  And if there were to be any son-in-law why should not he have as good a chance as any other?  When they should learn how constantly the girl’s image had been present to his mind, so far away, during so many years, under such hard circumstances would not that recommend him to them?  Had he not proved himself to be steady, industrious, and a good man of business?  In regard to position and fortune was he not such as a father would desire for his daughter?  Having lost his claim to Folking, had he not regained it;—­and in doing so had he not shown himself to be something much more than merely the heir to Folking?  An immediate income would, of course, be necessary;—­but there was money enough.  He would ask the old man for nothing.  Reports said that though the old man had been generous to his own sons, still he was fond of money.  He should have the opportunity of bestowing his daughter in marriage without being asked for a shilling.  And then John Caldigate bethought himself with some pride that he could make a proper settlement on his wife without burdening the estate at Folking with any dowers.  But of what use would be all this if he could not get at the girl to tell her that he loved her?