The deepest carmine colour flew into Harriet's face, but she still remained pelting her dog with the little pieces of meat. Mr. Gage stood waiting to hear what she would say.
"Ah! but George, do you mean it?" said Harriet, looking up archly in his face.
"Do I mean it?" asked Mr. Gage; "when I give you the power of rejecting my hand again."
This was so characteristic of the degree of estimation in which Mr. Gage held himself, that Harriet burst into a prolonged peal of laughter.
"Well, then, George," said she, holding out her hand.
"Well, then, Harriet," he replied, clasping it.
"But I tell you what," said Harriet, as she was leaving the room, "you may go and make your own story good to my Uncle Singleton, for if you think I shall take all that trouble, you will find yourself very much mistaken."
The next report current in the house was that Mr. Gage's horses were not going to Chirke Weston; and the presumption, therefore, was, that their master had determined to prolong his stay at Singleton Manor.