On that second Sunday,—­the Boncassens were to return to London on the following Tuesday,—­he found himself alone with Isabel’s father.  The American had been brought out at his own request to see the stables, and had been accompanied round the premises by Silverbridge, Mr Wharton, by Isabel, and by Lady Mary.  As they got out into the park the party were divided, and Silverbridge found himself with Mr Boncassen.  Then it occurred to him that the proper thing for a young man in love was to go, not to his own father, but to the lady’s father.  Why should not he do as others always did?  Isabel no doubt had suggested a different course.  But that which Isobel suggested was at the present moment impossible to him.  Now at this instant, without a moment’s forethought, he determined to tell his story to Isabel’s father,—­as any other young lover might tell it to any other father.

‘I am very glad to find ourselves alone, Mr Boncassen,’ he said.  Mr Boncassen bowed and showed himself prepared to listen.  Though so many at Matching had seen the whole play, Mr Boncassen had seen nothing of it.

‘I don’t know whether you are aware of what I have got to say.’

’I cannot quite say that I am, my lord.  But whatever it is, I am sure I shall be delighted to hear it.’

‘I want to marry your daughter,’ said Silverbridge.  Isabel had told him that he was downright, and in such a matter he had hardly as yet learned how to express himself with those paraphrases in which the world delights.  Mr Boncassen stood stock still, and in the excitement of the moment pulled off his hat.  ’The proper thing is to ask your permission to go on with it.’

‘You want to marry my daughter!’

‘Yes.  That is what I have got to say.’

‘Is she aware of your—­intention?’

’Quite aware.  I believe I may say that if other things go straight, she will consent.’

‘And your father—­the Duke?’

‘He knows nothing about it,—­as yet.’

’Really this takes me by surprise.  I am afraid you have not given enough thought to the matter.’

‘I have been thinking about it for the last three months,’ said Lord Silverbridge.

‘Marriage is a very serious thing.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘And men generally like to marry their equals.’

’I don’t know about that.  I don’t think that counts for much.  People don’t always know who are their equals.’

’That is quite true.  If I were speaking to you or to your father theoretically I should perhaps be unwilling to admit superiority on your side because of your rank and wealth.  I could make an argument in favour of any equality with the best Briton that ever lived,—­as would become a true-born Republican.’

‘That is just what I mean.’

’But when the question becomes one of practising,—­a question for our lives, for our happiness, for our own conduct, then, knowing what must be the feelings of an aristocracy in such a country as this, I am prepared to admit that your father would be as well justified in objecting to a marriage between a child of his and a child of mine, as I should be in objecting to one between my child and the son of some mechanic in our native city.’