But Miss Tickle was in the room, and might have been said to be in the way, were it not that a little temporary relief was felt by Mr. Prosper to be a comfort.  Miss Tickle was at any rate twenty years older than Miss Thoroughbung, and was of all slaves at the same time the humblest and the most irritating.  She never asked for anything, but was always painting the picture of her own deserts.  “I hope I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Tickle quite well,” said the squire, as soon as he had paid his first compliments to the lady of his love.

“Thank you, Mr. Prosper, pretty well.  My anxiety is all for Matilda.”  Matilda had been Matilda to her since she had been a little girl, and Miss Tickle was not going now to drop the advantage which the old intimacy gave her.

“I trust there is no cause for it.”

“Well, I’m not so sure.  She coughed a little last night, and would not eat her supper.  We always do have a little supper.  A despatched crab it was; and when she would not eat it I knew there was something wrong.”

“Nonsense! what a fuss you make.  Well, Mr. Prosper, have you seen your nephew yet?”

“No, Miss Thoroughbung; nor do I intend to see him.  The young man has disgraced himself.”

“Dear, dear; how sad!”

“Young men do disgrace themselves, I fear, very often,” said Miss Tickle.

“We won’t talk about it, if you please, because it is a family affair.”

“Oh no,” said Miss Thoroughbung.

“At least, not as yet.  It may be;—­but never mind, I would not wish to be premature in anything.”

“I am always telling Matilda so.  She is so impulsive.  But as you may have matters of business, Mr. Prosper, on which to speak to Miss Thoroughbung, I will retire.”

“It is very thoughtful on your part, Miss Tickle.”

Then Miss Tickle retired; from which it may be surmised that the probable circumstances of the interview had been already discussed between the ladies.  Mr. Prosper drew a long breath, and sighed audibly, as soon as he was alone with the object of his affections.  He wondered whether men were ever bright and jolly in such circumstances.  He sighed again, and then he began:  “Miss Thoroughbung!”

“Mr. Prosper!”

All the prepared words had flown from his memory.  He could not even bethink himself how he ought to begin.  And, unfortunately, so much must depend upon manner!  But the property was unembarrassed, and Miss Thoroughbung thought it probable that she might be allowed to do what she would with her own money.  She had turned it all over to the right and to the left, and she was quite minded to accept him.  With this view she had told Miss Tickle to leave the room, and she now felt that she was bound to give the gentleman what help might be in her power.  “Oh, Miss Thoroughbung!” he said.

“Mr. Prosper, you and I are such good friends, that—­that—­that—­”

“Yes, indeed.  You can have no more true friend than I am,—­not even Miss Tickle.”