No; what won my heart from an early period
of my visit to my cousins, the Poltons, of Poltons Park, was the
fervent, undisguised, unashamed, confident, and altogether
matter-of-course manner in which he made love to Miss Beatrice
Queenborough, only daughter and heiress of the wealthy shipowner,
Sir Wagstaff Queenborough, Bart., and Eleanor, his
wife. It was purely the manner of the curate's advances that
took my fancy; in the mere fact of them there was nothing
remarkable. For all the men in the house (and a good many
outside) made covert, stealthy, and indirect steps in the same
direction; for Trix (as her friends called her) was, if not wise,
at least pretty and witty, displaying to the material eye a
charming figure, and to the mental a delicate heartlessness--both
attributes which challenge a self-respecting man's best efforts.
But then came the fatal obstacle. From heiresses in reason a
gentleman need neither shrink nor let himself be driven; but when
it comes to something like twenty thousand a year--the reported
amount of Trix's dot--he distrusts his own motives almost as
much as the lady's relatives distrust them for him. We all felt
this--Stanton, Rippleby, and I; and, although I will not swear
that we spoke no tender words and gave no meaning glances, yet we
reduced such concessions to natural weakness to a minimum,
not only when Lady Queenborough was by, but at all times.
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