“No, no; he did not mean. It was his way of looking at things. You can afford to forgive him.”
“Yes, but not if he sets you against me.”
“But he cannot do that. The more any one was to speak against you, the more I—of course.”
This admission fired Sir Charles; he drew nearer, and, thanks to his cousin's interference, spoke the language of love more warmly and directly than he had ever done before.
The lady blushed, and defended herself feebly. Sir Charles grew warmer, and at last elicited from her a timid but tender avowal, that made him supremely happy.
When he left her this brief ecstasy was succeeded by regrets on account of the years he had wasted in follies and intrigues.
He smoked five cigars, and pondered the difference between the pure creature who now honored him with her virgin affections and beauties of a different character who had played their parts in his luxurious life.
After profound deliberation he sent for his solicitor. They lighted the inevitable cigars, and the following observations struggled feebly out along with the smoke.
“Mr. Oldfield, I'm going to be married.”
“Glad to hear it, Sir Charles.” (Vision of settlements.) “It is a high time you were.” (Puff-puff.)