A deeper student of Science than his rivals, he appreciated Nature’s compliment in the fair ones choice of you.  We now scientifically know that in this department of the universal struggle, success is awarded to the bettermost.  You spread a handsomer tail than your fellows, you dress a finer top-knot, you pipe a newer note, have a longer stride; she reviews you in competition, and selects you.  The superlative is magnetic to her.  She may be looking elsewhere, and you will see—­the superlative will simply have to beckon, away she glides.  She cannot help herself; it is her nature, and her nature is the guarantee for the noblest races of men to come of her.  In complimenting you, she is a promise of superior offspring.  Science thus—­or it is better to say—­an acquaintance with science facilitates the cultivation of aristocracy.  Consequently a successful pursuit and a wresting of her from a body of competitors, tells you that you are the best man.  What is more, it tells the world so.

Willoughby aired his amiable superlatives in the eye of Miss Middleton; he had a leg.  He was the heir of successful competitors.  He had a style, a tone, an artist tailor, an authority of manner; he had in the hopeful ardour of the chase among a multitude a freshness that gave him advantage; and together with his undeviating energy when there was a prize to be won and possessed, these were scarce resistible.  He spared no pains, for he was adust and athirst for the winning-post.  He courted her father, aware that men likewise, and parents pre-eminently, have their preference for the larger offer, the deeper pocket, the broader lands, the respectfuller consideration.  Men, after their fashion, as well as women, distinguish the bettermost, and aid him to succeed, as Dr. Middleton certainly did in the crisis of the memorable question proposed to his daughter within a month of Willoughby’s reception at Upton Park.  The young lady was astonished at his whirlwind wooing of her, and bent to it like a sapling.  She begged for time; Willoughby could barely wait.  She unhesitatingly owned that she liked no one better, and he consented.  A calm examination of his position told him that it was unfair so long as he stood engaged, and she did not.  She pleaded a desire to see a little of the world before she plighted herself.  She alarmed him; he assumed the amazing god of love under the subtlest guise of the divinity.  Willingly would he obey her behests, resignedly languish, were it not for his mother’s desire to see the future lady of Patterne established there before she died.  Love shone cunningly through the mask of filial duty, but the plea of urgency was reasonable.  Dr. Middleton thought it reasonable, supposing his daughter to have an inclination.  She had no disinclination, though she had a maidenly desire to see a little of the world—­grace for one year, she said.  Willoughby reduced the year to six months, and granted that term, for which, in gratitude, she submitted to stand engaged; and that