But there was a twinkle of jest in the lady's eyes all the while which
he did not perceive, and which, had he perceived it, he could not have
understood. Her anger was but simulated wrath. She, too, had thought
that it might be well, under circumstances, if she were to marry Mr.
Prosper, but had quite understood that those circumstances might not be
forthcoming. "I don't think it will do at all, my dear," she had said to
Miss Tickle. "Of course an old bachelor like that won't want to have
you."
"I beg you won't think of me for a moment," Miss Tickle had answered,
with solemnity.
"Bother! why can't you tell the truth? I'm not going to throw you over,
and of course you'd be just nowhere if I did. I shan't break my heart
for Mr. Prosper. I know I should be an old fool if I were to marry him;
and he is more of an old fool for wanting to marry me. But I did think
he wouldn't cut up so rough about the ponies." And then, when no answer
came to the last letter from Soames & Simpson, and the tidings reached
her, round from the brewery, that Mr. Prosper intended to be off, she
was not in the least surprised. But the information, she thought, had
come to her in an unworthy manner. So she determined to punish the
gentleman, and went out to Buston Hall and called him Peter Prosper.
Pages:
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691