Mr. Talboys was hurt.  “Not care for the alliance?  It was dear to him—­all the dearer for the difficulties.  He was attached to Miss Fountain—­warmly attached; would do anything for her except run the risk of an affront—­a refusal.”  Then followed a long discussion, the result of which was that he would not propose in form now, but would give proofs of his attachment such as no lady could mistake; inter alia, he would be sure to spend the last evening with her, and would ride the first stage with her next day, squeeze her hand at parting, and look unutterable.  And as for the formal proposal, that was only postponed a week or two.  Mr. Fountain was to pay his visit to Mrs. Bazalgette, and secretly prepare Miss Fountain; then Talboys would suddenly pounce—­and pop.  The grandeur and boldness of this strategy staggered, rather than displeased, Mr. Fountain.

“What! under her own roof?” and he could not help rubbing his hands with glee and spite—­“under her own eye, and malgre her personal influence?  Why, you are Nap.  I.”

“She will be quite out of the way of the Dodds there,” said Talboys, slyly.

The senior groaned. (” ‘Mule I.’  I should have said.”)

And so they cut and dried it all.

The last evening came, and with it, just before dinner, a line by special messenger from Mr. Talboys.  “He could not come that evening.  His brother had just arrived from India; they had not met for seven years.  He could not set him to dine alone.”

After dinner, in the middle of her uncle’s nap, in came Lucy, and, unheard-of occurrence—­deed of dreadful note—­woke him.  She was radiant, and held a note from Eve.  “Good news, uncle; those good, kind Dodds! they are coming to tea.”

“What?” and he wore a look of consternation.  Recollecting, however, that Talboys was not to be there, he was indifferent again.  But when he read the note he longed for his self-invited visitors.  It ran thus: 

“DEAR MISS FOUNTAIN—­David has found out the genealogy.  He says there is no doubt you came from the Fountains of Melton, and he can prove it.  He has proved it to me, and I am none the wiser.  So, as David is obliged to go away to-morrow, I think the best way is for me to bring him over with the papers to-night.  We will come at eight, unless you have company.”

“He is a worthy young man,” shouted Mr. Fountain.  “What o’clock is it?”

“Very nearly eight.  Oh, uncle, I am so glad.  How pleased you will be!”

The Dodds arrived soon after, and while tea was going on David spread his parchments on the table and submitted his proofs.  He had eked out the other evidence by means of a series of leases.  The three fields that went with Font Abbey had been let a great many times, and the landlord’s name, Fountain in the latter leases, was Fontaine in those of remoter date.  David even showed his host the exact date at which the change of orthography took place.  “You are a shrewd young gentleman,” cried Mr. Fountain, gleefully.