missed.  Well; he had made up his mind to that, and would put up with the loss.  He had means of living of his own, the means not so extensive as might have been desirable.  That it would be well for him to become a married man, looking merely to the state of life as opposed to his present state, he had fully resolved.  On that point, therefore, there was nothing to repent.  That Patty Woolsworthy was good, affectionate, clever, and beautiful, he was sufficiently satisfied.  It would be odd indeed if he were not so satisfied now, seeing that for the last four months he had so declared to himself daily with many inward asseverations.  And yet though he repeated, now again, that he was satisfied, I do not think that he was so fully satisfied of it as he had been throughout the whole of those four months.  It is sad to say so, but I fear—I fear that such was the case.  When you have your plaything, how much of the anticipated pleasure vanishes, especially if it be won easily.

He had told none of his family what were his intentions in this second visit to Devonshire, and now he had to bethink himself whether they would be satisfied.  What would his sister say, she who had married the Honourable Augustus Gumbleton, gold-stick-in-waiting to Her Majesty’s Privy Council?  Would she receive Patience with open arms, and make much of her about London?  And then how far would London suit Patience, or would Patience suit London?  There would be much for him to do in teaching her, and it would be well for him to set about the lesson without loss of time.  So far he got that night, but when the morning came he went a step further, and began mentally to criticise her manner to himself.  It had been very sweet, that warm, that full, that ready declaration of love.  Yes; it had been very sweet; but—but—; when, after her little jokes, she did confess her love, had she not been a little too free for feminine excellence?  A man likes to be told that he is loved, but he hardly wishes that the girl he is to marry should fling herself at his head!

Ah me! yes; it was thus he argued to himself as on that morning he went through the arrangements of his toilet.  “Then he was a brute,” you say, my pretty reader.  I have never said that he was not a brute.  But this I remark, that many such brutes are to be met with in the beaten paths of the world’s highway.  When Patience Woolsworthy had answered him coldly, bidding him go back to London and think over his love; while it seemed from her manner that at any rate as yet she did not care for him; while he was absent from her, and, therefore, longing for her, the possession of her charms, her talent and bright honesty of purpose had seemed to him a thing most desirable.  Now they were his own.  They had, in fact, been his own from the first.  The heart of this country-bred girl had fallen at the first word from his mouth.  Had she not so confessed to him?  She was very nice—very nice indeed.  He loved her dearly.  But had he not sold himself too cheaply?

I by no means say that he was not a brute.  But whether brute or no, he was an honest man, and had no remotest dream, either then, on that morning, or during the following days on which such thoughts pressed more quickly on his mind—of breaking away from his pledged word.  At breakfast on that morning he told all to Miss Le Smyrger, and that lady, with warm and gracious intentions, confided to him her purpose regarding her property.  “I have always regarded Patience as my heir,” she said, “and shall do so still.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Captain Broughton.

“But it is a great, great pleasure to me to think that she will give back the little property to my sister’s child.  You will have your mother’s, and thus it will all come together again.”

“Ah!” said Captain Broughton.  He had his own ideas about property, and did not, even under existing circumstances, like to hear that his aunt considered herself at liberty to leave the acres away to one who was by blood quite a stranger to the family.

“Does Patience know of this?” he asked.

“Not a word,” said Miss Le Smyrger.  And then nothing more was said upon the subject.

On that afternoon he went down and received the parson’s benediction and congratulations with a good grace.  Patience said very little on the occasion, and indeed was absent during the greater part of the interview.  The two lovers then walked up to Oxney Combe, and there were more benedictions and more congratulations.  “All went merry as a marriage bell,” at any rate as far as Patience was concerned.  Not a word had yet fallen from that dear mouth, not a look had yet come over that handsome face, which tended in any way to mar her bliss.  Her first day of acknowledged love was a day altogether happy, and when she prayed for him as she knelt beside her bed there was no feeling in her mind that any fear need disturb her joy.

I will pass over the next three or four days very quickly, merely saying that Patience did not find them so pleasant as that first day after her engagement.  There was something in her lover’s manner—something which at first she could not define—which by degrees seemed to grate against her feelings.

He was sufficiently affectionate, that being a matter on which she did not require much demonstration; but joined to his affection there seemed to be—; she hardly liked to suggest to herself a harsh word, but could it be possible that he was beginning to think that she was not good enough for him?  And then she asked herself the question—was she good enough for him?  If there were doubt about that, the match should be broken off, though she tore her own heart out in the struggle.  The truth, however, was this—that he had begun that teaching which he had already found to be so necessary.  Now, had any one essayed to teach Patience German or mathematics, with that young lady’s free consent, I believe that she would have been found a meek scholar.  But it was not probable that she would be meek when she found a self-appointed tutor teaching her manners and conduct without her consent.

So matters went on for four or five days, and on the evening of the fifth day Captain Broughton and his aunt drank tea at the parsonage.  Nothing very especial occurred; but as the parson and Miss La Smyrger insisted on playing backgammon with devoted perseverance during the whole evening, Broughton had a good opportunity of saying a word or two about those changes in his lady-love which a life in London would require—and some word he said also—some single slight word as to the higher station in life to which he would exalt his bride.  Patience bore it—for her father and Miss La Smyrger were in the room—she bore it well, speaking no syllable of anger, and enduring, for the moment, the implied scorn of the old parsonage.  Then the evening broke up, and Captain Broughton walked back to Oxney Combe with his aunt.  “Patty,” her father said to her before they went to bed, “he seems to me to be a most excellent young man.”  “Dear papa,” she answered, kissing him.  “And terribly deep in love,” said Mr. Woolsworthy.  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she answered, as she left him with her sweetest smile.  But though she could thus smile at her father’s joke, she had already made up her mind that there was still something to be learned as to her promised husband before she could place herself altogether in his hands.  She would ask him whether he thought himself liable to injury from this proposed marriage; and though he should deny any such thought, she would know from the manner of his denial what his true feelings were.

And he, too, on that night, during his silent walk with Miss Le Smyrger, had entertained some similar thoughts.  “I fear she is obstinate,” he said to himself; and then he had half accused her of being sullen also.  “If that be her temper, what a life of misery I have before me!”

“Have you fixed a day