Last night I had merely to ask him whether he credited the story of an old traveller that he had once used some ribs found there for his tent-poles and a tooth for his hominy beater; whereupon Dilsy, foreseeing what was coming, excused herself on the plea of sudden rheumatism and went to bed, as I wished she should.

The hinges on the little private gate under Georgiana’s window I keep rusty; this enables me to note when any one enters my garden.  By-and-by I heard the hinges softly creak, whereupon I feigned not to believe what Jack was telling me; whereupon he fell into an harangue of such affectionate and sustained vehemence that when the hinges creaked again I was never able to determine.  Was ever such usage made before of an antediluvian monster?

To-day the sewing-girl thrust out spiteful faces at me several times.

She is the one that helped Georgiana last year when she was making her wedding-clothes to marry the West Point cousin.  God keep him safely in the distance, or guide him firmly to the van of war!  How does a woman feel when she is making her wedding-clothes for the second time and for another man?  I know very well how the other man feels.  Upon my urging Georgiana to marry me at once—­nature does not recognize engagements; they are a device of civilization—­she protested: 

“But I must get ready!  Think of the sewing!”

“Oh, bother!” I grumbled.  “Where are all those clothes that you made last year?”

How was I to suppose that Georgiana must have everything made over as part of her feeling for me?  I would not decree it otherwise; yet I question whether this delicacy may not impose reciprocal obligations, and remove from my life certain elements of abiding comfort.  What if it should engender a prejudice against my own time-worn acquaintances—­the familiars of my fireside?  It might be justifiable sagacity in me to keep them locked up for the first year or so after Georgiana and I become a diune being; and, upon the whole, she should never know what may have been the premarital shortcomings of my wardrobe as respects things unseen.  No matter how well a bachelor may appear dressed, there is no telling what he conceals upon his person.  I feel sure that the retrospective discovery of a ravelling would somehow displease Georgiana as a feature of our courtship.  Nature is very stringent here, very guarded, truly universal.  Invariably the young men of my day grow lavish in the use of unguents when they are preparing for natural selection; and I flatter myself that even my own garments—­in their superficial aspects at least, and during my long pursuit of Georgiana—­have not been very far from somewhat slightly ingratiating.

This pursuit is now drawing to a close.  It is nearly the last of June.  She has given me her word that she will marry me early in September.  Two months for her to get the bridal feathers ready; two for me to prepare the nest.