And the Thoroughbung’s knew, and Miss Matilda Thoroughbung knew well.  All Buntingford knew.  In those old days in which he had sought the hand of the baronet’s daughter, the baronet’s daughter, and the baronet’s wife, and the baronet himself, had known what was coming, though Mr. Prosper thought that the secret dwelt alone in his own bosom.  Nor did he dream now that Harry and Harry’s father, and Harry’s mother and sisters, had all laughed at the conspicuous gravity of his threat.  It was the general feeling on the subject which made the rumor current that the deed had been done.  But when he came down-stairs with one new gray kid-glove on, and the other dangling in his hand, nothing had been done.

“Drive to Buntingford,” said the squire.

“Yes, sir,” said Matthew, the door of the carriage in his hand.

“To Marmaduke Lodge.”

“Yes, sir.”  Then Matthew told the coachman, who had heard the instructions very plainly, and knew them before he had heard them.  The squire threw himself back in the carriage, and applied himself to wondering how he should do the deed.  He had, in truth, barely studied the words,—­but not, finally, the manner of delivering them.  With his bare hand up to his eyes so that he might hold the glove unsoiled in the other, he devoted his intellect to the task; nor did he withdraw his hand till the carriage turned in at the gate.  The drive up to the door of Marmaduke Lodge was very short, and he had barely time to arrange his waistcoat and his whiskers before the carriage stood still.  He was soon told that Miss Thoroughbung was at home, and within a moment he found himself absolutely standing on the carpet in her presence.

Report had dealt unkindly with Miss Thoroughbung in the matter of her age.  Report always does deal unkindly with unmarried young women who have ceased to be girls.  There is an idea that they will wish to make themselves out to be younger than they are, and therefore report always makes them older.  She had been called forty-five, and even fifty.  Her exact age at this moment was forty-two, and as Mr. Prosper was only fifty there was no discrepancy in the marriage.  He would have been young-looking for his age, but for an air of ancient dandyism which had grown upon him.  He was somewhat dry, too, and skinny, with high cheekbones and large dull eyes.  But he was clean, and grave, and orderly,—­a man promising well to a lady on the lookout for a husband.  Miss Thoroughbung was fat, fair, and forty to the letter, and she had a just measure of her own good looks, of which she was not unconscious.  But she was specially conscious of twenty-five thousand pounds, the possession of which had hitherto stood in the way of her search after a husband.  It was said commonly about Buntingford that she looked too high, seeing that she was only a Thoroughbung and had no more than twenty-five thousand pounds.