But if Mr Bunting had indeed indulged in speculations on the widow’s heart, they were cut short by a sudden summons to take the journey on which his early partner had preceded him; and Miss Jenny was left the undisputed heiress of all his gains and gatherings, now amounting to a comfortable sum in a London bank, besides the newly-built cottage.  None of the village remembered the time when Miss Jenny was young—­not but that there were older ladies in the community, and few who wore their years so well—­but a matronly staidnees and industry, a solidity of manner and appearance, had grown so early on the lady, that she had no youth, and scarcely any childhood, in the recollection of her neighbours, and she was now on the shady side of thirty.

Miss Jenny might have had suitors, had her encouragement been more liberal:  where is the maiden of fortune who might not?  But she had no admirers, though there was not a more popular woman in Westbourne.  Time out of mind she was known to have a good advice and a helping-hand for all who required either.  The help was always kindly given, and the advice generally judicious:  indeed, if Miss Jenny had a weakness, it was the love of direction and counsel-giving; and by that breach the strong citadel of her heart was won.  There was no house in Westbourne that gave her abilities half such scope as that of Mrs Captain Phipps—­so the lady continued to style herself.  Miss Jenny’s father had advised there till he departed; after which event, the widow and her son confided in his heiress.  Master Harry Phipps was not what would be called a successful young man.  He was not either wild or remarkably stupid, as the world goes; his mother knew him to be a dear domestic fellow, who would play the flute or dominos for weeks of evenings in her back-parlour.  He had taken one prize at college and sundry at school; had the reputation of being almost a beau, and, at least in Westbourne society, half a wit; and was a tall, fair-faced, lathy young man, dressing well, and looking rather genteel, in spite of an overgrown boyishness which hung about him and kept the Master fastened to his name, though he had left twenty-five behind him.  Master Harry had made attempts on law, physic, and divinity, without completing the studies requisite for any of those learned professions; somehow he had always got disgusted when just half-way, and at the time of our tale, had a serious notion of civil engineering.  The fates, nevertheless, chalked out another line for Master Harry Phipps.  How it first came about the keenest-eared gossips in Westbourne never knew, but the widow’s son was observed to become a frequent visitor at the cottage as the days of Miss Jenny’s mourning for her father expired.  In these expeditions he was occasionally supported by Mrs Captain Phipps, who at length told her confidential friends, and they informed the village, that her son was about to marry, and take the name of Bunting.  Some said that Miss Jenny insisted on the latter step