Messrs. Talboys and Fountain took a stroll to look at the new jail that was building in Royston, and, as they returned, Talboys, whose wounded pride had now fermented, told Mr. Fountain plainly that he saw nothing for it but to withdraw his pretensions to Miss Fountain.
“My own feelings are not sufficiently engaged for me to play the up-hill game of overcoming her disinclination.”
“Disinclination? The mere shyness of a modest girl. If she was to be 'won unsought,' she would not be worthy to be Mrs. Talboys.”
“Her worth is indisputable,” said Mr. Talboys, “but that is no reason why I should force upon her my humble claims.”
The moment his friend's pride began to ape humility, Fountain saw the wound it had received was incurable. He sighed and was silent. Opposition would only have set fire to opposition.
They went home together in silence. On the road Talboys caught sight of a tall gentleman carrying a side-saddle, and a little lady walking beside him. He recognized his bete noir with a grim smile. Here at least was one he had defeated and banished from the fair. What on earth was the man doing? Oh, he had been giving his sister a ride on a donkey, and they had met with an accident. Mr. Talboys was in a humor for revenge, so he pulled up, and in a somewhat bantering voice inquired where was the steed.
“Oh, he is in port by now,” said David.
“Do you usually ease the animal of that part of his burden, sir?”
“No,” said David, sullenly.
Eve, who hated Mr. Talboys, and saw through his sneers, bit her lip and colored, but kept silence.