Vernon briefly thanked him, and said: 

“Willoughby has exerted all his eloquence, and you see the result:  you have lost Miss Dale and I have not won her.  He did everything that one man can do for another in so delicate a case:  even to the repeating of her famous birthday verses to him, to flatter the poetess.  His best efforts were foiled by the lady’s indisposition for me.”

“Behold,” said Dr. Middleton, as Willoughby, electrified by the mention of the verses, took a sharp stride or two, “you have in him an advocate who will not be rebuffed by one refusal, and I can affirm that he is tenacious, pertinacious as are few.  Justly so.  Not to believe in a lady’s No is the approved method of carrying that fortress built to yield.  Although unquestionably to have a young man pleading in our interests with a lady, counts its objections.  Yet Willoughby being notoriously engaged, may be held to enjoy the privileges of his elders.”

“As an engaged man, sir, he was on a level with his elders in pleading on my behalf with Miss Dale,” said Vernon.  Willoughby strode and muttered.  Providence had grown mythical in his thoughts, if not malicious:  and it is the peril of this worship that the object will wear such an alternative aspect when it appears no longer subservient.

“Are we coming, sir?” he said, and was unheeded.  The Rev. Doctor would not be defrauded of rolling his billow.

“As an honourable gentleman faithful to his own engagement and desirous of establishing his relatives, he deserves, in my judgement, the lady’s esteem as well as your cordial thanks; nor should a temporary failure dishearten either of you, notwithstanding the precipitate retreat of the lady from Patterne, and her seclusion in her sanctum on the occasion of your recent visit.”

“Supposing he had succeeded,” said Vernon, driving Willoughby to frenzy, “should I have been bound to marry?” Matter for cogitation was offered to Dr. Middleton.

“The proposal was without your sanction?”

“Entirely.”

“You admire the lady?”

“Respectfully.”

“You do not incline to the state?”

“An inch of an angle would exaggerate my inclination.”

“How long are we to stand and hear this insufferable nonsense you talk?” cried Willoughby.

“But if Mr. Whitford was not consulted . . .”  Dr. Middleton said, and was overborne by Willoughby’s hurried, “Oblige me, sir.—­Oblige me, my good fellow!” He swept his arm to Vernon, and gestured a conducting hand to Clara.

“Here is Mrs. Mountstuart!” she exclaimed.

Willoughby stared.  Was it an irruption of a friend or a foe?  He doubted, and stood petrified between the double question.  Clara had seen Mrs. Mountstuart and Colonel De Craye separating:  and now the great lady sailed along the sward like a royal barge in festival trim.

She looked friendly, but friendly to everybody, which was always a frost on Willoughby, and terribly friendly to Clara.