He had done with Sophia for ever! His first demand of a woman worthy to be his wife was that she should never have looked upon another man to make eyes at him, and he had distinctly seen (Oh, monstrous, monstrous, to be sure!).… He would go straight home and write Miss St. Maur a letter the like of which that lady had never received in her life.
With these terrible thoughts working in his head, the poor man had crossed a couple of fields on his way home when he looked up and saw Miss St. Maur herself coming towards him along the footpath over the knap of the hill.
"Dr. Clatworthy!" cried Miss St. Maur.
"Ma'am," said Dr. Clatworthy.
"Why—why, wherever have you left dear Sophia and the rest of my charges?"
"At Merry-Garden, ma'am—and in various summer-houses, ma'am—and making free, ma'am, with a vicious soldiery!"
"But it is impossible!" cried Miss St. Maur when he had told his tale of horror. "I refuse to believe it. Indeed, sir, I can only think you have taken leave of your senses!"
"Come and see for yourself, ma'am," said the doctor, cold as ice to look at, but with an inside like a furnace.
He was forced almost to a run to keep pace with Miss St. Maur: but at the steps leading up to the garden he made her promise him to go quiet, and the pair tiptoed up and through the verandah and peered around the laylock-bush.
"There!" cried Miss St. Maur, turning to him and pointing up the path with her parasol.