"Oh, Emily! oh, I can't tell you how good that has turned out! She's out and away nicer than any thing that ever was; no nonsense about her; quiet, ladylike, sweet, affectionate little thing! You know, George, there are some women--"
"Yes," interrupted Mr. Pringle--"I know there are! and there are some men who want a glass of grog--and I'm one; and there are others who are mad spoony--and you're another! I'll mix for you, and we'll light our pipes, and then I shall be in a better frame of mind to listen to jour dilation on Miss Murray's excellences."
Mr. Prescott, so soon as their glasses were before them, their pipes in their mouths, and they were established one on either side of the fireplace, lost no time in availing himself of his friend's permission, and plunged into those amatory raptures which we have all of us suffered under at our friends' hands. The singular difference of the young lady to, and her superiority over, every one else, the mixture of sense and sensibility which she displayed, the clever things she said and did, her delicacy, firmness, bashfulness, presence of mind,--all these were dilated on at full length by one gentleman, and listened to with becoming patience by the other. At last, when his friend fairly stopped for want of breath, Mr. Pringle asked,
"And have you put it all right, Jim? of course you're not carrying on this kind of thing without meaning it; have you squared it with them all?"
"Well, Emily and I understand each other thoroughly; and it's all arranged between us, I think. I mean that I haven't said anything, you know; but people don't say any thing now in such cases. There's a kind of a--a--"
"Yes," interrupted Pringle--"yes; I suppose there is. But what about her father?"
"I haven't spoken to the old boy yet. Not that I think he'd make much objection, turn rusty, or any thing of that sort, for he's tremendously kind and jolly; but I don't like to talk to him while I've got these infernal debts hanging over me. I don't think it's fair; and yet--Have you heard any thing from old Scadgers, George?"
"No, I haven't heard any thing; but--Never mind, we'll talk about him to-morrow, when you've had a rest, and we're both clearer and cooler than we are now. Now turn in and get a sleep, old man; good-night!"
The next morning, however, when Mr. Pringle introduced the subject of Mr. Scadgers and the acceptances which he held, Mr. Prescott showed a remarkable alacrity in changing the conversation, an alacrity which he exhibited on two or three subsequent occasions. He was in the habit, Pringle observed, of receiving every morning with the greatest regularity a pink-coloured note with a country postmark, and after reading its contents he became very much absorbed, slightly ethereal, and generally indisposed to converse on mundane matters. But honest George Pringle, who had no such pleasant distractions, knew perfectly well that time was running on, and that some positive step must be taken; so on the fourth morning after his friend's return he tackled him resolutely.
"I say, Jim, about those bills? No good fencing about the business any longer; we must go into it, or we shall come to grief. I've a notion that some of them are overdue already, and I wonder Scadgers hasn't been here pressing for either a settlement or a renewal."