“That will be unfortunate for her, and the more so if she has a right to expect it.  Is the young lady Miss Trefoil?”

“I did not mean to mention any name, till I was sure it might be necessary.  But it is Miss Trefoil.”

“Eleanor had told me something of it”

“Eleanor knows nothing about this, and I do not ask you to tell her.  The young lady was here with her mother,—­and for the matter of that with a gentleman to whom she was certainly engaged; but nothing particular occurred here.  That unfortunate ball was going on when poor Caneback was dying.  But I met her since that at Mistletoe.”

“I can hardly advise, you know, unless you tell me everything.”

Then Lord Rufford began.  “These kind of things are sometimes deuced hard upon a man.  Of course if a man were a saint or a philosopher or a Joseph he wouldn’t get into such scrapes,—­and perhaps every man ought to be something of that sort.  But I don’t know how a man is to do it, unless it’s born with him.”

“A little prudence I should say.”

“You might as well tell a fellow that it is his duty to be six feet high”

“But what have you said to the young lady,—­or what has she said to you?”

“There has been a great deal more of the latter than the former.  I say so to you, but of course it is not to be said that I have said so.  I cannot go forth to the world complaining of a young lady’s conduct to me.  It is a matter in which a man must not tell the truth.”

“But what is the truth?”

“She writes me word to say that she has told all her friends that I am engaged to her, and kindly presses me to make good her assurances by becoming so.”

“And what has passed between you?”

“A fainting fit in a carriage and half-a-dozen kisses.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more that is material.  Of course one cannot tell it all down to each mawkish word of humbugging sentiment.  There are her letters, and what I want you to remember is that I never asked her to be my wife, and that no consideration on earth shall induce me to become her husband.  Though all the duchesses in England were to persecute me to the death I mean to stick to that.”

Then Sir George read the letters and handed them back.  “She seems to me,” said he, “to have more wit about her than any of the family that I have had the honour of meeting.”

“She has wit enough,—­and pluck too.”

“You have never said a word to her to encourage these hopes”

“My dear Penwether, don’t you know that if a man with a large income says to a girl like that that the sun shines he encourages hope.  I understand that well enough.  I am a rich man with a title, and a big house, and a great command of luxuries.  There are so many young ladies who would also like to be rich, and to have a title, and a big house, and a command of luxuries!  One sometimes feels oneself like a carcase in the midst of vultures.”