that he had so few
creditable friends left now! He could think of none at that moment
except his strong-minded old Aunt Tabby, who had some sneaking kindness
for him in the middle of her scorn, and his old man, Miles. Die Baring
would not tolerate his boon companions--not that he wanted her to
tolerate them; she would not suit for his mistress and manager if she
did; though where she got her niceness--seeing what her father was up to
in cool, barefaced scampishness, in horse-flesh, bones, and
pasteboard--he could not tell.--She was a capable woman he was certain,
if she got a fair field for her capability. She was clever: anybody with
half an eye or an ear might recognize that. And she would want all her
cleverness--ay, and her will and temper--for what she would have to do.
But she had undertaken the task, and it was not much to the purpose that
if she had not been the daughter of a disreputable spendthrift she would
doubtless as lief have touched live coals as have submitted to be his
wife. Ah, well, it was his luck in his last toss-up, and he had never
been lucky before; yet he had never felt so great a reluctance to
conclude his engagement of twenty-four hours, and clinch his repentance,
as he did at this moment. It was good for him that he stood committed.
But why had he not sought out some humble, meek lass, who would still
have looked up to him and reckoned him not quite such a reprobate, but
believed that there was some good left in him, and liked him a little
for himself--not married him to suit her own book and save him for her
own sake, if it were possible? Why had he not chosen a simple pet lamb,
in place of a proud heifer who scarcely took the trouble to conceal from
him how it galled her neck to put it into his yoke? Psha! he would break
any poor heart with his incorrigible wildness and beastly sottishness in
a month's time. A woman without a heart; a good, hard-mouthed,
strong-pulling, well-wearing woman,--honest, and a lady; a handsome,
superior woman, and far beyond his deserts, was the wife for him.

Gervase pursued this line of thought; but he spoke to Miss Baring,
after a little introductory flourish about the weather, his ride
from Ashpound, and the embroidery which she had taken up, in a
different strain.

"You have shown a great, I must say an unmerited, trust in me, Miss
Baring--Diana: but I mean--I swear I mean to do the best I can for you
and myself. I have thought better of the life I have be