“My excellent friend!” cried Griffith, startled from his quiescent posture, and tranquil occupation, by the growing excitement of his companion, “what has possessed you?  Is it the daughter of our worthy host—­is it Emily Sherwood, the nymph who haunts these woods—­who has given birth to this marvellous train of reflection? to this rhapsody on the omnipresence of woman, which I certainly had never discovered, and on the misery of a snug bachelor’s income, which to me is still more incomprehensible?  I confess, however, it would be difficult to find a better specimen of this fearfully fascinating sex.”—­

“Pshaw!” interrupted Darcy, “what is the heiress of Lipscombe Park to me?—­a girl who might claim alliance with the wealthiest and noblest of the land—­to me, who have just that rag of property, enough to keep from open shame one miserable biped?  Can a man never make a general reflection upon one of the most general of all topics, without being met by a personal allusion?  I thought you had been superior, Griffith, to this dull and hackneyed retort.”

“Well, well; be not wroth”—­

“But I am.  There is something so odious in this trite and universal banter.  Besides, to have it intimated, even in jest, that I would take advantage of my position in this family to pay my ridiculous addresses to Miss Sherwood—­I do declare, Griffith, I never will again to you, or any other man, touch upon this subject, but in the same strain of unmeaning levity one is compelled to listen to, and imitate, in the society of coxcombs.”

“At all events,” said Griffith, “give me leave to say that I admire Miss Sherwood, and that I shall think it a crying shame if so beautiful and intelligent a girl is suffered to fall into the clutches of this stupid baronet who is laying siege to her—­this pompous, empty-headed Sir Frederic Beaumantle.”

“Sir Frederic Beaumantle,” said Darcy, with some remains of humour, “may be all you describe him, but he is very rich, and, mark me, he will win the lady.  Old Sherwood suspects him for a fool, but his extensive estates are unincumbered—­he will approve his suit.  His daughter makes him a constant laughing-stock, she is perpetually ridiculing his presumption and his vanity; but she will end by marrying the rich baronet.  It will be in the usual course of things; society will expect it; and it is so safe, so prudent, to do what society expects.  Let wealth wed with wealth.  It is quite right.  I would never advise any man to marry a woman much richer than himself, so as to be indebted to her for his position in society.  It is useless to say, or to feel, that her wealth was not the object of your suit.  You may carry it how you will—­what says the song?

      ’She never will forget;
    The gold she gave was not thy gain,
      But it must be thy debt.’

“But come, our host is punctual to his dinner hour, and if we journey back at the same pace we have travelled here, we shall not have much time upon our hands.”  And accordingly the two friends set themselves in motion to return to the house.