where he lay stranded, to London, by I knew not what
heaven-sent gift of money, bidding me keep in view
the grand career I was to commence at Dipwell on arriving
at my majority. I would have gone with him had
he beckoned a finger. The four-and-twenty bottles
of Hock were ranged in a line for the stable-boys
to cock-shy at them under the squire’s supervision
and my enforced attendance, just as revolutionary
criminals are executed. I felt like the survivor
of friends, who had seen their blood flow.
He handed me a cheque for the payment of debts incurred
in my recent adventures. Who could help being
grateful for it? And yet his remorseless spilling
of the kindly wine full of mellow recollections of
my father and the little princess, drove the sense
of gratitude out of me.
NEWS OF A FRESH CONQUEST OF MY FATHER’S
Temple went to sea. The wonder is that I did
not go with him: we were both in agreement that
adventures were the only things worth living for,
and we despised English fellows who had seen no place
but England. I could not bear the long separation
from my father that was my reason for not insisting
on the squire’s consent to my becoming a midshipman.
After passing a brilliant examination, Temple had
the good fortune to join Captain Bulsted’s ship,
and there my honest-hearted friend dismally composed
his letter of confession, letting me know that he had
been untrue to friendship, and had proposed to Janet
Ilchester, and interchanged vows with her. He
begged my forgiveness, but he did love her so!—he
hoped I would not mind. I sent him a reproachful
answer; I never cared for him more warmly than when
I saw the letter shoot the slope of the postoffice
mouth. Aunt Dorothy undertook to communicate assurances
of my undying affection for him. As for Janet—Temple’s
letter, in which he spoke of her avowed preference
for Oriental presents, and declared his intention
of accumulating them on his voyages, was a harpoon
in her side. By means of it I worried and terrified
her until she was glad to have it all out before the
squire. What did he do? He said that Margery,
her mother, was niggardly; a girl wanted presents,
and I did not act up to my duty; I ought to buy Turkey
and Tunis to please her, if she had a mind for them.
The further she was flattered the faster she cried;
she had the face of an old setter with these hideous
tears. The squire promised her fifty pounds per
annum in quarterly payments, that she might buy what
presents she liked, and so tie herself to constancy.
He said aside to me, as if he had a knowledge of the
sex—’Young ladies must have lots of
knickknacks, or their eyes ‘ll be caught right
and left, remember that.’ I should have
been delighted to see her caught. She talked of
love in a ludicrous second-hand way, sending me into
fits of disgusted laughter. On other occasions
her lips were not hypocritical, and her figure anything
