Punctually at eleven o’clock on the Friday morning Mr Gibson knocked at the door of the house in the Close.  The reader must not imagine that he had ever wavered in his intention with regard to Dorothy Stanbury, because he had been driven into a corner by the pertinacious ingenuity of Miss French.  He never for a moment thought of being false to Miss Stanbury, the elder.  Falseness of that nature would have been ruinous to him, would have made him a marked man in the city all his days, and would probably have reached even to the bishop’s ears.  He was neither bad enough, nor audacious enough, nor foolish enough, for such perjury as that.  And, moreover, though the wiles of Arabella had been potent with him, he very much preferred Dorothy Stanbury.  Seven years of flirtation with a young lady is more trying to the affection than any duration of matrimony.  Arabella had managed to awaken something of the old glow, but Mr Gibson, as soon as he was alone, turned from her mentally in disgust.  No!  Whatever little trouble there might be in his way, it was clearly his duty to marry Dorothy Stanbury.  She had the sweetest temper in the world, and blushed with the prettiest blush!  She would have, moreover, two thousand pounds on the day she married, and there was no saying what other and greater pecuniary advantages might follow.  His mind was quite made up; and during the whole morning he had been endeavouring to drive all disagreeable reminiscences of Miss French from his memory, and to arrange the words with which he would make his offer to Dorothy.  He was aware that he need not be very particular about his words, as Dorothy, from the bashfulness of her nature, would be no judge of eloquence at such a time.  But still, for his own sake, there should be some form of expression, some propriety of diction.  Before eleven o’clock he had it all by heart, and had nearly freed himself from the uneasiness of his falsehood to Arabella.  He had given much serious thought to the matter, and had quite resolved that he was right in his purpose, and that he could marry Dorothy with a pure conscience, and with a true promise of a husband’s love.  ’Dear Dolly!’ he said to himself, with something of enthusiasm as he walked across the Close.  And he looked up to the house as he came to it.  There was to be his future home.  There was not one of the prebends who had a better house.  And there was a dovelike softness about Dorothy’s eyes, and a winning obedience in her manner, that were charming.  His lines had fallen to him in very pleasant places.  Yes he would go up to her and take her at once by the hand, and ask her whether she would be his, now and for ever.  He would not let go her hand, till he had brought her so close to him that she could hide her blushes on his shoulder.  The whole thing had been so well conceived, had become so clear to his mind, that he felt no hesitation or embarrassment as he knocked at the door.  Arabella French would, no doubt, hear of it soon.  Well she must hear of it.  After all she could do him no injury.