He did not speak of Miss Durham, and Laetitia became afraid to mention her name.

At their parting, Willoughby promised Laetitia that he would call on the morrow.  He did not come; and she could well excuse him, after her hearing of the tale.

It was a lamentable tale.  He had ridden to Sir John Durham’s mansion, a distance of thirty miles, to hear, on his arrival, that Constantia had quitted her father’s house two days previously on a visit to an aunt in London, and had just sent word that she was the wife of Captain Oxford, hussar, and messmate of one of her brothers.  A letter from the bride awaited Willoughby at the Hall.  He had ridden back at night, not caring how he used his horse in order to get swiftly home, so forgetful of himself was he under the terrible blow.  That was the night of Saturday.  On the day following, being Sunday, he met Laetitia in his park, led her to church, led her out of it, and the day after that, previous to his disappearance for some weeks, was walking with her in full view of the carriages along the road.

He had, indeed, you see, been very fortunately, if not considerately, liberated by Miss Durham.  He, as a man of honour, could not have taken the initiative, but the frenzy of a jealous girl might urge her to such a course; and how little he suffered from it had been shown to the world.  Miss Durham, the story went, was his mother’s choice for him against his heart’s inclinations; which had finally subdued Lady Patterne.  Consequently, there was no longer an obstacle between Sir Willoughby and Miss Dale.  It was a pleasant and romantic story, and it put most people in good humour with the county’s favourite, as his choice of a portionless girl of no position would not have done without the shock of astonishment at the conduct of Miss Durham, and the desire to feel that so prevailing a gentleman was not in any degree pitiable.  Constantia was called “that mad thing”.  Laetitia broke forth in novel and abundant merits; and one of the chief points of requisition in relation to Patterne—­a Lady Willoughby who would entertain well and animate the deadness of the Hall, became a certainty when her gentleness and liveliness and exceeding cleverness were considered.  She was often a visitor at the Hall by Lady Patterne’s express invitation, and sometimes on these occasions Willoughby was there too, superintending the filling up of his laboratory, though he was not at home to the county; it was not expected that he should be yet.  He had taken heartily to the pursuit of science, and spoke of little else.  Science, he said, was in our days the sole object worth a devoted pursuit.  But the sweeping remark could hardly apply to Laetitia, of whom he was the courteous, quiet wooer you behold when a man has broken loose from an unhappy tangle to return to the lady of his first and strongest affections.

Some months of homely courtship ensued, and then, the decent interval prescribed by the situation having elapsed, Sir Willoughby Patterne left his native land on a tour of the globe.