strong enough
to stick firmly to his guns as planted for him by Messrs. Grey & Barry.
He did give way in some matters, and hence arose renewed letters which
nearly drove him mad. Messrs. Soames & Simpson's client was willing to
accept four hundred pounds as the amount of the dower without reference
to the house, and to this Mr. Prosper yielded. He did not much care
about any heir as yet unborn, and felt by no means so certain in regard
to children as did the lady. But he fought hard about the ponies. He
could not undertake that his wife should have ponies. That must be left
to him as master of the house. He thought that a pair of carriage-horses
for her use would be sufficient. He had always kept a carriage, and
intended to do so. She might bring her ponies if she pleased, but if he
thought well to part with them he would sell them. He found himself
getting deeper and deeper into the quagmire, till he began to doubt
whether he should be able to extricate himself unmarried if he were
anxious to do so. And all the while there came affectionate little notes
from Miss Thoroughbung asking after his health, and recommending him
what to take, till he entertained serious thoughts of going to Cairo for
the winter.

Then Mr. Barry came down to see him after Mountjoy had made his visit.
It was now January, and the bargaining about the marriage had gone on
for more than two months. The letter which he had received from the
Squire of Tretton had moved him; but he had told himself that the
property was his own, and that he had a right to enjoy it as he liked
best.

Whatever might have been Harry's faults in regard to that midnight
affair, it had certainly been true that he had declined to hear the
sermons. Mr. Prosper did not exactly mention the sermons to himself, but
there was present to him a feeling that his heir had been wilfully
disobedient, and the sermons no doubt had been the cause. When he had
read the old squire's letter he did not as yet wish to forgive his
nephew. He was becoming very tired of his courtship, but in his
estimation the wife would be better than the nephew. Though he had been
much put out by the precocity of that embrace, there was nevertheless a
sweetness about it which lingered on his lips. Then Mountjoy had come
down, and he had answered Mountjoy very stoutly: "A lie!" he had
exclaimed. "Did he tell a lie?" he had asked, as though all must be over
with a young man who had once allowed himself to depar