ced
himself, and he knew also that his disgrace would be known, if
Dorothy Stanbury should accept his offer on the morrow. And yet how
hardly he had been used! What answer could he have given compatible
both with the truth and with his own personal dignity?

About half an hour afterwards he was walking back to Exeter with
Brooke Burgess, and then Brooke did ask him a question or two.

"Nice girls those Frenches, I think," said Brooke.

"Very nice," said Mr. Gibson.

"How Miss Stanbury does hate them," says Brooke.

"Not hate them, I hope," said Mr. Gibson.

"She doesn't love them;--does she?"

"Well, as for love;--yes; in one sense,--I hope she does. Miss
Stanbury, you know, is a woman who expresses herself strongly."

"What would she say, if she were told that you and I were going to
marry those two girls? We are both favourites, you know."

"Dear me! What a very odd supposition," said Mr. Gibson.

"For my part, I don't think I shall," said Brooke.

"I don't suppose I shall either," said Mr. Gibson, with a gravity
which was intended to convey some smattering of rebuke.

"A fellow might do worse, you know," said Brooke. "For my part, I
rather like girls with chignons, and all that sort of get-up. But the
worst of it is, one can't marry two at a time."

"That would be bigamy," said Mr. Gibson.

"Just so," said Brooke.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

MISS STANBURY'S WRATH.

Punctually at eleven o'clock on the Friday morning Mr. Gibson
knocked at the door of the house in the Close. The reader must not
imagine that he had ever wavered in his intention with regard to
Dorothy Stanbury, because he had been driven into a corner by the
pertinacious ingenuity of Miss French. He never for a moment thought
of being false to Miss Stanbury the elder. Falseness of that nature
would have been ruinous to him,--would have made him a marked man in
the city all his days, and would probably have reached even to the
bishop's ears. He was neither bad enough, nor audacious enough, nor
foolish enough, for such perjury as that. And, moreover, though the
wiles of Arabella had been potent with him, he very much preferred
Dorothy Stanbury. Seven years of flirtation with a young lady is more
trying to the affection than any duration of matrimony. Arabella had
managed to awaken something of the old glow, but Mr. Gibson, as soon
as he was alone, turned from her mentally in disgust. No! Whatever
little trouble there might be in his way,