"What!—'the Honorable Tittlebat Titmouse,' if it's a boy, and the 'Honorable Cecilia Titmouse,' if it's a girl?"
"Sir, it will be so—unless you should choose to take the name and arms of Dreddlington, on marrying the sole heiress"——
"Oh! indeed, my Lord? 'Pon my life, my Lord, that's worth considering—because—betwixt your Lordship and I, I a'n't over and above pleased with my own name. What will it cost to change it, now, my Lord?"
"Sir," said the earl, struck with the idea, "that is really a thing worth considering. But as for the expense—in an affair of such magnitude, sir, I presume it would not be a matter of serious consideration."
After some further conversation, the earl came plump upon the great pivot upon which the whole arrangement was to turn—settlements and jointures—oh, as to them, Titmouse, who was recovering from the shock of the discovery that his marriage, however it might degrade the Lady Cecilia, would not ennoble him—promised everything—would leave everything in the hands of his Lordship. Soon afterwards they separated; the earl suggesting to him, that probably in a matter of infinite delicacy, like that on which they had been conversing, he would keep his own counsel—to which also Titmouse pledged himself. Soon afterwards, and before seeing his daughter, with an anxious, but not an excited air, he ordered his horse, and took a long ride, accompanied only by his groom: and if ever in his whole life he had attempted serious REFLECTION, it was on the occasion of that same long, slow, and solitary ride; then, for the first time, he forgot his peerage, and thought only of the man—and the father.
But to what purpose? Shortly after his return, he sought the Lady Cecilia, and performed his promise, by preparing her to receive, probably on the ensuing day, the proposals of Tittlebat Titmouse.
The desired opportunity occurred the next day. Titmouse had slept like a top all night, after smoking in his bedroom a great many cigars, and drinking several tumblers of brandy and water. Lady Cecilia, however, had passed a very uneasy, and almost a sleepless night, and did not make her appearance at the breakfast-table. Understanding that her Ladyship was in the drawing-room, and alone, about noon, Titmouse, who had bestowed during the interval more than usual pains upon his dress, gently opened the door, and observing her reclining alone on the sofa, he closed the door behind him, with a sudden beating of the heart, and approached her, bowing profoundly. Poor Lady Cecilia immediately sat up, very pale and trembling.
"Good-morning, good-morning, Lady Cicely," commenced Titmouse, with evident agitation, taking a chair and sitting down in it, plump opposite to her.
"You aren't well this morning, are you, Lady Cicely?" he continued, observing how pale she looked, and that she did not seem disposed to speak.