Whether Mr. Jabez did think his Susan a cake, I can’t say, but he certainly seized one and munched it viciously.
The little tiff, however, soon blew over. Jabez had not studied the art of dissembling in vain. So long as he could drive off the evil day until the letters, which were the only legal proofs of ‘promise,’ came into his possession, or until something turned up to give him a loophole of escape, he was satisfied.
He made it up, shone on Mrs. Turvey as brightly as he could, and presently, having finished the cakes and emptied the teapot, took his departure.
While this scene was transacting itself below, the little tea-party upstairs was progressing under far more favourable circumstances.
Gurth, absorbed in his desire to make himself agreeable to the Adrians, succeeded in making them spend a really pleasant evening. Mr. Adrian was so delighted with his conversation, and Mrs. Adrian felt so comfortable in his easy-chair, that both were loth to leave, and had to be reminded twice by Ruth of the lateness of the hour before they prepared to go.
A few days after the tea-party at Egerton’s house, Mr. John Adrian sat alone in his dining-room.
The latest book of travels lay on the table before him, but he took no notice of it. He was evidently lost in thought.
A few minutes before a visitor had departed—a visitor who had requested a private interview, and, having obtained it had told Mr. Adrian something which had completely put the Patagonians’ noses out of joint and driven the Central Africans from the field.
The visitor was no other than Mr. Gurth Egerton, who, in a few plain words, had requested Mr. Adrian’s permission to pay his addresses to his daughter.
Mr. Adrian had listened to his visitor politely, and had gone so far as to confess that such a match would be by no means disagreeable to himself, but with regard to his daughter’s feelings he was not in a position to speak.