“Of course it is.  I told you so.  What other object can I have?”

“Then, if you saw me wretched, and degraded in my own eyes, your heart would bleed for your poor niece—­too late.  Well, uncle, I love you, too, and I save you this day from remorse.  Oh, think what it must be to hate and despise a man, and link yourself body and soul to that man for life.  Oh, think and shudder with me.  I have a quick eye.  I have seen your lip curl with contempt when that fool has been talking—­ah! you blush.  You are too much his superior in everything but fortune not to despise him at heart.  See the thing as it is.  Speak to me as you would if my mother stood here beside us, uncle, and to speak to me, you must look her in the face.  Could you say to me before her, ’I love you; marry a man we both despise!’?”

Mr. Fountain made no answer.  He was disconcerted.  Nothing is so easy to resist as logic solo.  We see it, as a general rule, resisted with great success in public and private every day; but when it comes in good company, a voice of music, an angel face, gentle, persuasive caresses, and imploring eyes, it ceases to revolt the understanding.  And so, caught in his own trap, foiled, baffled, soothed, caressed, all in one breath, Mr. Fountain hung his head, and could not immediately reply.

Lucy followed up her advantage.  “No,” cried she; “say to me, ’I love you, Lucy; marry nobody; stay with your uncle, and find your happiness in contributing to his comfort.’”

“What is the use my saying that, when I have got Mother Bazalgette against me, and her shopkeeper?”

“Never mind, uncle, you say it, and time will show whether your influence is small with me, and my affections small for you”; and she looked in his face with glistening eyes.

“Well, then,” said he, “I do say it, and I suppose that means I must urge you no more about poor Talboys.”

A shower of kisses descended upon him that moment.  Moral:  Lose no time in sealing a good bargain.

“Come, now, Lucy, you must do me a favor.”

“Oh, thank you! thank you! what is it?”

“Ah! but it is about Talboys too.”

“Never mind,” faltered Lucy, “if it is anything short of—­” (full stop).

“It is a long way short of that.  Look here, Lucy, I must tell you the truth.  He intends to ask your hand himself:  he confided this to me, but he never authorized me to commit him as I have done, so that this conversation cannot be acted on:  it must be a secret between you and me.”

“Oh, dear! and I thought I had got rid of him so nicely.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” groaned Fountain; “such matches as this can always be dropped; the difficulty is to bring them on.  All I ask of you, then, is not to make mischief between me and my friend, the proudest man in England.  If you don’t value his friendship, I do.  You must not let him know I have got him insulted by a refusal.  For instance, you had better go out sailing with him to-morrow as if nothing had passed.  Will your affection for me carry you as far as that?”