That it should be said of him, Mr. Prosper, of Buston, that he was “keeping company” with any woman!  He almost resolved, on the spur of the moment, that under no circumstances could he now marry Miss Thoroughbung.  But unfortunately his offer had been made, and the terms of the settlement, as suggested by himself, placed in the hands of his lawyer.  If Miss Thoroughbung chose to hold him to his offer, he must marry her.  It was not that he feared an action for breach of promise, but that, as a gentleman, it would behoove him to be true to his word.  He need not, however, marry Miss Tickle.  He had offered no terms in respect to Miss Tickle.  With great presence of mind he resolved at once that Miss Tickle should never find a permanent resting-place for her foot at Buston Hall.  “I am extremely indebted to Miss Tickle,” said he.

“Why haven’t you come over just to have a little chat in a friendly way?  It’s all because of those stupid lawyers, I suppose.  What need you and I care for the lawyers?  They can do their work without troubling us, except that they will be sure to send in their bills fast enough.”

“I have had Mr. Barry, from the firm of Messrs. Grey & Barry, of Lincoln’s Inn, with me this morning.”

“I know you have.  I saw the little man at Soames & Simpson’s, and drove out here immediately, after five minutes’ conversation.  Now, Mr. Prosper, you must let me have those ponies.”

That was the very thing which he was determined not to do.  The ponies grew in imagination, and became enormous horses capable of consuming any amount of oats.  Mr. Prosper was not of a stingy nature, but he had already perceived that his escape, if it were effected, must be made good by means of those ponies.  A steady old pair of carriage-horses had been kept by him, and by his father before him, and he was not going to be driven out of the old family ways by a brewer’s daughter.  And he had, but that morning, instructed his lawyer to stand out against the ponies.  He felt that this was the moment for firmness.  Now, this instant, he must be staunch, or he would be saddled with this woman,—­and with Miss Tickle,—­for the whole of his life.  She had left him no time for consideration, but had come upon him as soon almost as the words spoken to the lawyer had been out of his mouth.  But he would be firm.  Miss Thoroughbung opened out instantly about the ponies, and he at once resolved that he would be firm.  But was it not very indelicate on her part to come to him and to press him in this manner?  He began to hope that she also would be firm about the ponies, and that in this way the separation might be effected.  At the present moment he stood dumb.  Silence would not in this case be considered as giving consent.  “Now, like a good man, do say that I shall have the ponies,” she continued.  “I can keep ’em out of my own money, you know, if that’s all.”  He perceived at once that the offer amounted to a certain yielding on her part, but he was no longer