“And you never saw the letter?”
“Of course not. It was burned before my eyes.”
“I think the affair looks very serious, Lorrequer. You may have won this girl’s affections. It matters little whether the mamma be a hacknied match-maker, or the cousin a bullying duellist. If the girl have a heart, and that you have gained it”—
“Then I must marry, you would say.”
“Exactly so—without the prompting of your worthy uncle, I see no other course open to you without dishonour. My advice, therefore, is, ascertain—and that speedily—how far your attentions have been attended with the success you dread—and then decide at once. Are you able to get as far as Mrs. Bingham’s room this morning? If so, come along. I shall take all the frais of la chere mamma off your hands, while you talk to the daughter; and half-an-hour’s courage and resolution will do it all.”
Having made the most effective toilet my means would permit, my right arm in a sling, and my step trembling from weakness, I sallied forth with Trevanion to make love with as many fears for the result as the most bashful admirer ever experienced, when pressing his suit upon some haughty belle—but for a far different reason.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE PROPOSAL.
On reaching Mrs. Bingham’s apartments, we found that she had just left home to wait upon Mrs. O’Leary, and consequently, that Miss Bingham was alone. Trevanion, therefore, having wished me a safe deliverance through my trying mission, shook my hand warmly, and departed.
I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my hand upon the lock of the door. To think that the next few moments may decide the fortune of one’s after life, is a sufficiently anxious thought; but that your fate may be so decided, by compelling you to finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly, is still more insupportable. Such, then, was my condition. I had resolved within myself, if the result of this meeting should prove that I had won Miss Bingham’s affections, to propose for her at once in all form, and make her my wife. If, on the other hand, I only found that she too had amused herself with a little passing flirtation, why then, I was a free man once more: but, on catechising myself a little closer, also, one somewhat disposed to make love de novo.
With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over every passage of our acquaintance—our first meeting—our solitary walks—our daily, hourly associations—our travelling intimacy—the adventure at Chantraine.—There was, it is true, nothing in all this which could establish the fact of wooing, but every thing which should convince an old offender like myself that the young lady was “en prise,” and that I myself—despite my really strong attachment elsewhere—was not entirely scathless.