“That’s good, at any rate,” quoth John.
“Yes, my dear major—yes, my lieutenant-colonel—to be sure that’s good. So to secure the good the gods provide us, go you this minute, dress, and away to your fair Indian! I’ll undertake the business with the general.”
“But a fortnight, my dear father,” said John, looking into the glass: “how can that be?”
“Look again, and tell me how it can not be? Pray don’t put that difficulty into Miss Petcalf’s head—into her heart I am sure it would never come.”
John yielded his shoulder to the push his father gave him towards the door, but suddenly turning back, “Zounds! father, a fortnight!” he exclaimed: “why there won’t be time to buy even boots!”
“And what are even boots,” replied his father, “to such a man as you? Go, go, man; your legs are better than all the boots in the world.”
Flattery can find her way to soothe the dullest, coldest ear alive. John looked in the glass again—dressed—and went to flatter Miss Petcalf. The proposal was graciously accepted, for the commissioner stated, as he was permitted in confidence to the general, that his son was under the special patronage of Lord Oldborough, who would make him a lieutenant-colonel in two years. The general, who looked only for connexion and genteel family, was satisfied. The young lady started at the first mention of an early day; but there was an absolute necessity for pressing that point, since the young officer was ordered to go abroad in a fortnight, and could not bear to leave England without completing his union with Miss Petcalf. These reasons, as no other were to be had, proved sufficient with father and daughter.
John was presented with a captain’s commission. He, before the end of the fortnight, looked again and again in the glass to take leave of himself, hung up his flute, and—was married. The bride and bridegroom were presented to Lord and Lady Oldborough, and went immediately abroad.
Thus the forms of homage and the rights of vassalage are altered; the competition for favour having succeeded to the dependence for protection, the feudal lord of ancient times could ill compete in power with the influence of the modern political patron.
Pending the negotiation of this marriage, and during the whole of this eventful fortnight, Cunningham Falconer had been in the utmost anxiety that can be conceived—not for a brother’s interests, but for his own: his own advancement he judged would depend upon the result, and he could not rest day or night till the marriage was happily completed—though, at the same time, he secretly cursed all the loves and marriages, which had drawn Lord Oldborough’s attention away from that embassy on which his own heart was fixed.