To Mr. Prosper, whose imagination did not fly far
afield, the world afforded at present but two ladies. These were Miss
Puffle and Miss Thoroughbung, and as Miss Puffle had fallen out of the
running, there seemed to be a walk-over for Miss Thoroughbung.
He did think, during the two or three days which passed without any
farther step on his part,--he did think how it might be were he to remain
unmarried. As regarded his own comfort, he was greatly tempted. Life
would remain so easy to him! But then duty demanded of him that he
should marry, and he was a man who, in honest, sober talk, thought much
of his duty. He was absurdly credulous, and as obstinate as a mule. But
he did wish to do what was right. He had been convinced that Harry
Annesley was a false knave, and had been made to swear an oath that
Harry should not be his heir. Harry had been draped in the blackest
colors, and to each daub of black something darker had been added by his
uncle's memory of those neglected sermons. It was now his first duty in
life to beget an heir, and for that purpose a wife must be had.
Putting aside the ponies and the champagne,--and the despatched crab, the
sound of which, as coming to him from Miss Tickle's mouth, was uglier
than the other sounds,--he still thought that Miss Thoroughbung would
answer his purpose.
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