What my uncle had made up his mind for was not very apparent; but he concluded his sentence by poking the weeder under my short ribs.
"To have me marry in haste and repent at leisure, eh, uncle—is it for this that your mind is made up?"
"I am a man of the old school, Newton; yet I hate proverbs, and everything old, except wine and good breeding."
"You are aware, uncle," said I, to change the subject, "that the lancers are under orders for Turkey?"
"Where women are kept under lock and key, bought, and secluded from society; just as in Britain they are thrust into it for sale."
"And so, my dear uncle, supposing that a lively young lancer will make a most excellent husband for your noble and beautiful protégée, you are resolved to make a victim of me, is it not so?"
"Precisely; but according to the old use and wont in drama and romance, you must not be a willing one; you must be prepared to hate her cordially at first sight, and to prefer some one else—of course, some amiable village damsel, of humble but respectable parentage," replied Sir Nigel, laughing.
"Hate her—prefer another!" I exclaimed; "on the contrary, I—I——"
I know not what I was about to say, or how far I might have betrayed myself. The blood rushed to my temples, and I felt giddy and confused, for the kind old baronet knew little of the hopeless passion with which the fair one of whom he spoke had inspired me already.
"You have met the Lady Lousia before, you say?"