Here was a ground upon which he perhaps could make his stand.  “Quite impossible!” said Mr. Prosper.

“Or for a fortnight,” said Miss Thoroughbung.

“I never go up to London except on business.”

“But I might go alone, you know—­with Miss Tickle.  I shouldn’t want to drag you away.  I have always been in the habit of having a few weeks in London about the Exhibition time.”

“I shouldn’t wish to be left by my wife.”

“Of course we could manage all that.  We’re not to settle every little thing beforehand, and put it into the deeds.  A precious sum we should have to pay the lawyers!”

“It’s as well we should understand each other.”

“I think it pretty nearly is all settled that has to go into the deeds.  I thought I’d just run over, after seeing Mr. Barry, and give the final touch.  If you’ll give way, dear, about Miss Tickle and the ponies, I’ll yield in everything else.  Nothing, surely, can be fairer than that.”

He knew that he was playing the hypocrite, and he knew also that it did not become him as a gentleman to be false to a woman.  He was aware that from minute to minute, and almost from word to word, he was becoming ever more and more averse to this match which he had proposed to himself.  And he knew that in honesty he ought to tell her that it was so.  It was not honest in him to endeavor to get rid of her by a side-blow, as it were.  And yet this was the attempt which he had hitherto been making.  But how was he to tell her the truth?  Even Mr. Barry had not understood the state of his mind.  Indeed, his mind had altered since he had seen Mr. Barry.

He had heard within the last half hour many words spoken by Miss Thoroughbung which proved that she was altogether unfit to be his wife.  It was a dreadful misfortune that he should have rushed into such peril; but was he not bound as a gentleman to tell her the truth?  “Say that I shall have Jemima Tickle!” The added horrors of the Christian name operated upon him with additional force.  Was he to be doomed to have the word Jemima hallooed about his rooms and staircases for the rest of his life?  And she had given up the ponies, and was taking her stand upon Miss Tickle, as to whom at last he would be bound to give way.  He could see now that he should have demanded her whole income, and have allowed her little or no jointure.  That would have been grasping, monstrous, altogether impracticable, but it would not have been ungentleman-like.  This chaffering about little things was altogether at variance with his tastes,—­and it would be futile.  He must summon courage to tell her that he no longer wished for the match; but he could not do it on this morning.  Then,—­for that morning,—­some benign god preserved him.

Matthew came into the room and whispered into his ear that a gentleman wished to see him.  “What gentleman?” Matthew again whispered that it was his brother-in-law.  “Show him in,” said Mr. Prosper, with a sudden courage.  He had not seen Mr. Annesley since the day of his actual quarrel with Harry.  “I shall have the ponies?” said Miss Thoroughbung during the moment that was allowed to her.