With all her secrecy, and self-will, there was not so much as the shadow of anything false in her.  I never remember her breaking her word; I never remember her saying No, and meaning Yes.  I can call to mind, in her childhood, more than one occasion when the good little soul took the blame, and suffered the punishment, for some fault committed by a playfellow whom she loved.  Nobody ever knew her to confess to it, when the thing was found out, and she was charged with it afterwards.  But nobody ever knew her to lie about it, either.  She looked you straight in the face, and shook her little saucy head, and said plainly, “I won’t tell you!” Punished again for this, she would own to being sorry for saying “won’t;” but, bread and water notwithstanding, she never told you.  Self-willed—­devilish self-willed sometimes—­I grant; but the finest creature, nevertheless, that ever walked the ways of this lower world.  Perhaps you think you see a certain contradiction here?  In that case, a word in your ear.  Study your wife closely, for the next four-and-twenty hours.  If your good lady doesn’t exhibit something in the shape of a contradiction in that time, Heaven help you!—­you have married a monster.

I have now brought you acquainted with Miss Rachel, which you will find puts us face to face, next, with the question of that young lady’s matrimonial views.

On June the twelfth, an invitation from my mistress was sent to a gentleman in London, to come and help to keep Miss Rachel’s birthday.  This was the fortunate individual on whom I believed her heart to be privately set!  Like Mr. Franklin, he was a cousin of hers.  His name was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

My lady’s second sister (don’t be alarmed; we are not going very deep into family matters this time)—­my lady’s second sister, I say, had a disappointment in love; and taking a husband afterwards, on the neck or nothing principle, made what they call a misalliance.  There was terrible work in the family when the Honourable Caroline insisted on marrying plain Mr. Ablewhite, the banker at Frizinghall.  He was very rich and very respectable, and he begot a prodigious large family—­all in his favour, so far.  But he had presumed to raise himself from a low station in the world—­and that was against him.  However, Time and the progress of modern enlightenment put things right; and the mis-alliance passed muster very well.  We are all getting liberal now; and (provided you can scratch me, if I scratch you) what do I care, in or out of Parliament, whether you are a Dustman or a Duke?  That’s the modern way of looking at it—­and I keep up with the modern way.  The Ablewhites lived in a fine house and grounds, a little out of Frizinghall.  Very worthy people, and greatly respected in the neighbourhood.  We shall not be much troubled with them in these pages—­excepting Mr. Godfrey, who was Mr. Ablewhite’s second son, and who must take his proper place here, if you please, for Miss Rachel’s sake.