breast of it, especially as it involves me, and sooner or later I should have to tell him myself.'
Dr. Corney said no at all points. 'Now hear me,' he said, finally. 'This is between ourselves, and no breach of confidence, which I'd not be guilty of for forty friends, though I'd give my hand from the wrist-joint for one — my left, that's to say. Sir Willoughby puts me one or two searching interrogations on a point of interest to him, his house and name. Very well, and good night to that, and I wish Miss Dale had been ten years younger, or had passed the ten with no heartrisings and sinkings wearing to the tissues of the frame and the moral fibre to boot. She'll have a fairish health, with a little occasional doctoring; taking her rank and wealth in right earnest, and shying her pen back to Mother Goose. She'll do. And, by the way, I think it's to the credit of my sagacity that I fetched Mr. Dale here fully primed, and roused the neighbourhood, which I did, and so fixed our gentleman, neat as a prodded eel on a pair of prongs — namely, the positive fact and the general knowledge of it. But, mark me, my friend. We understand one another at a nod. This boy, young Squire Crossjay, is a good stiff hearty kind of a Saxon boy, out of whom you may cut as gallant a fellow as ever wore epaulettes. I like him, you like him, Miss Dale and Miss Middleton like him; and Sir Willoughby Patterne, of Patterne Hall and other places, won't be indisposed to like him mightily in the event of the sun being seen to shine upon him with a particular determination to make him appear a prominent object, because a solitary, and a Patterne.' Dr. Corney lifted his chest and his finger: 'Now mark me, and verbum sap: Crossjay must not offend Sir Willoughby. I say no more. Look ahead. Miracles happen, but it's best to reckon that they won't. Well, now, and Miss Dale. She'll not be cruel.'
'It appears as if she would,' said Vernon, meditating on the cloudy sketch Dr. Corney had drawn.
'She can't, my friend. Her position's precarious; her father has little besides a pension. And her writing damages her health. She can't. And she likes the baronet. Oh, it's only a little fit of proud blood. She's the woman for him. She'll manage him — give him an idea he's got a lot of ideas. It'd kill her father if she were obstinate. He talked to me, when I told him of the business, about his dream fulfilled, and if the dream turns to vapour, he'll be another example that we hang more upon dreams than realities for nourishment, and medicine too. Last week I couldn't have got him out of his house with all my art and science. Oh, she'll come round. Her father prophesied this, and I'll prophesy that. She's fond of him.'
'She was.'
'She sees through him?'
'Without quite doing justice to him now,' said Vernon. 'He can be generous — in his way.'
'How?' Corney inquired, and was informed that he should hear in time to come.
Meanwhile Colonel De Craye, after hovering over the park and about the cottage for the opportunity of pouncing on Miss Middleton alone, had returned crest-fallen for once, and plumped into Willoughby's hands.
'My dear Horace,' Willoughby said, 'I've been looking for you all the afternoon. The fact is — I fancy you'll think yourself lured down here on false pretences: but the truth is, I am not so much to blame as the world will suppose. In point of fact, to be brief, Miss Dale and I… I never consult other men how they would have acted. The fact of the matter is, Miss Middleton… I fancy you have partly guessed it.'
'Partly,' said De Craye.
'Well, she has a liking that way, and if it should turn out strong enough, it's the best arrangement I can think of,' The lively play of the colonel's features fixed in a blank inquiry.
'One can back a good friend for making a good husband,' said Willoughby. 'I could not break with her in the present stage of affairs without seeing to that. And I can speak of her highly, though she and I have seen in time that we do not suit one another. My wife must have brains.'
'I have always thought it,' said Colonel De Craye, glistening, and looking hungry as a wolf through his wonderment.
'There will not be a word against her, you understand. You know my dislike of tattle and gossip. However, let it fall on me; my shoulders are broad. I have done my utmost to persuade her, and there seems a likelihood of her consenting. She tells me her wish is to please me, and this will please me.'
'Certainly. Who's the gentleman?'
'My best friend, I tell you. I could hardly have proposed another. Allow this business to go on smoothly just now.' There was an uproar within the colonel to blind his wits, and Willoughby looked so friendly that it was possible to suppose the man of projects had mentioned his best friend to Miss Middleton.
And who was the best friend?
Not having accused himself of treachery, the quick-eyed colonel was duped.
'Have you his name handy, Willoughby?'
'That would be unfair to him at present, Horace — ask yourself — and to her. Things are in a ticklish posture at present. Don't be hasty.'
'Certainly. I don't ask. Initials'll do.'
'You have a remarkable aptitude for guessing, Horace, and this case offers you no tough problem — if ever you acknowledged toughness. I have a regard for her and for him — for both pretty equally; you know I have, and I should be thoroughly thankful to bring the matter about.'
'Lordly!' said De Craye.
'I don't see it. I call it sensible.'
'Oh, undoubtedly. The style, I mean. Tolerably antique?'
'Novel, I should say, and not the worse for that. We want plain practical dealings between men and women. Usually we go the wrong way to work. And I loathe sentimental rubbish.'
De Craye hummed an air. 'But the lady?' said he.
'I told you, there seems a likelihood of her consenting.'
Willoughby's fish gave a perceptible little leap now that he had been taught to exercise his aptitude for guessing.
'Without any of the customary preliminaries on the side of the gentleman?' he said.
'We must put him through his paces, friend Horace. He's a notorious blunderer with women; hasn't a word for them, never marked a conquest.'
De Craye crested his plumes under the agreeable banter. He presented a face humourously sceptical.
'The lady is positively not indisposed to give the poor fellow a hearing?'
'I have cause to think she is not,' said Willoughby, glad of acting the indifference to her which could talk of her inclinations.
'Cause?'
'Good cause.'
'Bless us!'
'As good as one can have with a woman.'
'Ah?'
'I assure you.'
'Ah! Does it seem like her, though?'
'Well, she wouldn't engage herself to accept him.'
'Well, that seems more like her.'
'But she said she could engage to marry no one else.'
The colonel sprang up, crying: 'Clara Middleton said it?' He curbed himself 'That's a bit of wonderful compliancy.'
'She wishes to please me. We separate on those terms. And I wish her happiness. I've developed a heart lately and taken to think of others.'
'Nothing better. You appear to make cock sure of the other party — our friend?'
'You know him too well, Horace, to doubt his readiness.'
'Do you, Willoughby?'
'She has money and good looks. Yes, I can say I do.'
'It wouldn't be much of a man who'd want hard pulling to that lighted altar!'
'And if he requires persuasion, you and I, Horace, might bring him to his senses.'
'Kicking, 't would be!'
'I like to see everybody happy about me,' said Willoughby, naming the hour as time to dress for dinner.
The sentiment he had delivered was De Craye's excuse for grasping his hand and complimenting him; but the colonel betrayed himself by doing it with an extreme fervour almost tremulous.
