. When Marlow brought his own books
down he had ordered some cases to be made by a country carpenter, which
fitted but did not much ornament the room. They gave it a raw, desolate
aspect, and made him, by a natural projection of thought, think ill of
the accommodation of the whole house, as soon as he began to entertain
the idea of Emily Hastings ever becoming its mistress. Then he went on
to ask himself, "What have I to offer for the treasure of her hand? What
have I to offer but the hand of a very simple, undistinguished country
gentleman--quite, quite unworthy of her? What have I to offer Sir Philip
Hastings as an alliance worthy of even his consideration?--A good,
unstained name; but no rank, and a fortune not above mediocrity. Marry!
a fitting match for the heiress of the Hastings and Marshall families."

He gazed around him, and his heart fell.

A little boy, with a pair of wings on his shoulders, and the end of a
bow peeping up near his neck, stood close behind Marlow, and whispered
in his ear, "Never mind all that--only try."

And Marlow resolved he would try; but yet he hesitated how to do so.
Should he go himself to Sir Philip? But he feared a rebuff. Should he
write? No, that was cowardly. Should he tell his love to Emily first,
and strive to win her affections, ere he breathed to her father? No,
that would be dishonest, if he had a doubt of her father's consent. At
length he made up his mind to go in person to Sir Philip, but the
discussion and the consideration had been so long that it was too late
to ride over that night, and the journey was put off till the following
day. That day, as early as possible, he set out. He called it as early
as possible, and it was early for a visit; but the moment one fears a
rebuff from any lady one grows marvellously punctilious. When his horse
was brought round he began to fancy that he should be too soon for Sir
Philip, and he had the horse walked up and down for half an hour.

What would he have given for that half hour, when, on reaching Sir
Philip's door, he found that Emily's father had gone out, and was not
expected back till late in the day. Angry with himself, and a good deal
disappointed, he returned to his home, which, somehow, looked far less
cheerful than usual. He could take no pleasure in his books, or in his
pictures, and even thought was unpleasant to him, for under the
influence of expectation it became but a calculation of chances, for
which he had but