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.
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