to play the overture to Atalanta, arranged by Mazzinghi.  Nevertheless, it was some time before Theobald could bring his courage to the sticking point of actually proposing.  He made it quite clear that he believed himself to be much smitten, but month after month went by, during which there was still so much hope in Theobald that Mr Allaby dared not discover that he was able to do his duty for himself, and was getting impatient at the number of half-guineas he was disbursing—­and yet there was no proposal.  Christina’s mother assured him that she was the best daughter in the whole world, and would be a priceless treasure to the man who married her.  Theobald echoed Mrs Allaby’s sentiments with warmth, but still, though he visited the Rectory two or three times a week, besides coming over on Sundays—­he did not propose.  “She is heart-whole yet, dear Mr Pontifex,” said Mrs Allaby, one day, “at least I believe she is.  It is not for want of admirers—­oh! no—­she has had her full share of these, but she is too, too difficult to please.  I think, however, she would fall before a great and good man.”  And she looked hard at Theobald, who blushed; but the days went by and still he did not propose.

Another time Theobald actually took Mrs Cowey into his confidence, and the reader may guess what account of Christina he got from her.  Mrs Cowey tried the jealousy manoeuvre and hinted at a possible rival.  Theobald was, or pretended to be, very much alarmed; a little rudimentary pang of jealousy shot across his bosom and he began to believe with pride that he was not only in love, but desperately in love or he would never feel so jealous.  Nevertheless, day after day still went by and he did not propose.

The Allabys behaved with great judgement.  They humoured him till his retreat was practically cut off, though he still flattered himself that it was open.  One day about six months after Theobald had become an almost daily visitor at the Rectory the conversation happened to turn upon long engagements.  “I don’t like long engagements, Mr Allaby, do you?” said Theobald imprudently.  “No,” said Mr Allaby in a pointed tone, “nor long courtships,” and he gave Theobald a look which he could not pretend to misunderstand.  He went back to Cambridge as fast as he could go, and in dread of the conversation with Mr Allaby which he felt to be impending, composed the following letter which he despatched that same afternoon by a private messenger to Crampsford.  The letter was as follows:—­

“Dearest Miss Christina,—­I do not know whether you have guessed the feelings that I have long entertained for you—­feelings which I have concealed as much as I could through fear of drawing you into an engagement which, if you enter into it, must be prolonged for a considerable time, but, however this may be, it is out of my power to conceal them longer; I love you, ardently, devotedly, and send these few lines asking you to be my wife,