It was not long before he yielded in pure weariness.  Who has not felt, as he stood by a stream into which he knew that it was his fate to plunge, the folly of delaying the shock?  In his present condition he had no ease.  His sister threatened him with a return of Arabella.  Miss Penge required from him sensational conversation.  His brother-in-law was laughing at him in his sleeve.  His very hunting friends treated him as though the time were come.  In all that he did the young lady took an interest which bored him excessively,—­to put an end to which he only saw one certain way.  He therefore asked her to be Lady Rufford before he got on his drag to go out hunting on the last Saturday in March.  “Rufford,” she said, looking up into his face with her lustrous eyes, and speaking with a sweet, low, silvery voice,—­“are you sure of your self?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Quite sure of yourself?”

“Never so sure in my life.”

“Then dearest, dearest Rufford, I will not scruple to say that I also am sure.”  And so the thing was settled very much to his comfort.  He could hardly have done better had he sought through all England for a bride.  She will be true to him, and never give him cause for a moment’s jealousy.  She will like his title, his house, and his property.  She will never spend a shilling more than she ought to do.  She will look very sharply after him, but will not altogether debar him from his accustomed pleasures.  She will grace his table, nurse his children, and never for a moment give him cause to be ashamed of her.  He will think that he loves her, and after a lapse of ten or fifteen years will probably really be fond of her.  From the moment that she is Lady Rufford, she will love him,—­as she loves everything that is her own.

In spite of all his antecedents no one doubted his faith in this engagement;—­no one wished to hurry him very much.  When the proposition had been made and accepted, and when the hero of it had gone off on his drag, Miss Penge communicated the tidings to her friend.  “I think he has behaved very wisely,” said Lady Penwether.

“Well;—­feeling as I do of course I think he has.  I hope he thinks the same of me.  I had many doubts about it, but I do believe that I can make him a good wife.”  Lady Penwether thought that her friend was hardly sufficiently thankful, and strove to tell her so in her own gentle, friendly way.  But Miss Penge held her head up and was very stout, and would not acknowledge any cause for gratitude.  Lady Penwether, when she saw how it was to be gave way a little.  Close friendship with her future sister-in-law would be very necessary to her comfort, and Miss Penge, since the law-suit was settled, had never been given to yielding.

“My dear Rufford,” said the sister affectionately, “I congratulate you with all my heart; I do indeed.  I am quite sure that you could not have done better.”

“I don’t know that I could.”