Harry, when he was told that Miss Mountjoy was at home, had at once walked in and opened for himself the door of the front room downstairs.  There he found Florence and Mountjoy Scarborough.  Mrs. Mountjoy was still up-stairs in her bedroom, and was palpitating with fear as she thought of the anger of the two combative lovers.  To her belief, Harry was, of the two, the most like to a roaring lion, because she had heard of him that he had roared so dreadfully on that former occasion.  But she did not instantly go down, detained in her bedroom by the eagerness of her fear, and by the necessity of resolving how she would behave when she got there.

Harry, when he entered, stood a moment at the door, and then, hurrying across the room, offered Scarborough his hand.  “I have been so sorry,” he said, “to hear of your loss; but your father’s health was such that you could not have expected that his life should be prolonged.”  Mountjoy muttered something, but his mutterings, as Florence had observed, were made in courtesy.  And the two men had taken each other by the hand; after that they could hardly fly at each other’s throats in her presence.  Then Harry crossed to Florence and took her hand.  “I never get a line from you,” he said, laughing, “but what you scold me.  I think I escape better when I am present; so here I am.”

“You always make wicked propositions, and of course I scold you.  A girl has to go on scolding till she’s married, and then it’s her turn to get it.”

“No wonder, then, that you talk of three years so glibly.  I want to be able to scold you.”

All this was going on in Mountjoy’s presence, while he stood by, silent, black, and scowling.  His position was very difficult,—­that of hearing the billing and cooing of these lovers.  But theirs also was not too easy, which made the billing and cooing necessary in his presence.  Each had to seem to be natural, but the billing and cooing were in truth affected.  Had he not been there, would they not have been in each other’s arms? and would not she have made him the proudest man in England by a loving kiss?  “I was asking Miss Mountjoy, when you came in, to be my wife.”  This Scarborough said with a loud voice, looking Harry full in the face.

“It cannot be,” said Florence; “I told you that, for his honor,”—­and she laid her hand on Harry’s arm,—­“I could listen to no such request.”

“The request has to be made again,” he said.

“It will be made in vain,” said Harry.

“So, no doubt, you think,” said Captain Scarborough.

“You can ask herself,” said Harry.

“Of course it will be made in vain,” said Florence.  “Does he think that a girl, in such a matter as that of loving a man, can be turned here and there at a moment’s notice,—­that she can say yes and no alternately to two men?  It is impossible.  Harry Annesley has chosen me, and I am infinitely happy in his choice.”  Here Harry made an attempt to get his arm round her