So saying, he was about to seat himself, but Mrs. Bloundel prevented
him.

"I cannot permit this, sir," she cried. "Your tarrying here may, for
aught I know, bring scandal upon my house;--I am sure it will be
disagreeable to my husband. I am unacquainted with your name and
condition. You may be a man of rank. You may be one of the profligate
and profane crew who haunt the court. You may be the worst of them all,
my Lord Rochester himself. He is about your age, I have heard, and
though a mere boy in years, is a veteran in libertinism. But, whoever
you are, and whatever your rank and station may be, unless your
character will bear the strictest scrutiny, I am certain Stephen
Bloundel will never consent to your union with his daughter."

"Nay, mother," observed Amabel, "you judge the gentleman unjustly. I am
sure he is neither a profligate gallant himself, nor a companion of
such--especially of the wicked Earl of Rochester."

"I pretend to be no better than I am," replied the young man, repressing
a smile that rose to his lips at Mrs. Bloundel's address; "but I shall
reform when I am married. It would be impossible to be inconstant to so
fair a creature as Amabel. For my rank, I have none. My condition is
that of a private gentleman,--my name, Maurice Wyvil."

"What you say of yourself, Mr. Maurice Wyvil, convinces me you will meet
with a decided refusal from my husband," returned Mrs. Bloundel.

"I trust not," replied Wyvil, glancing tenderly at Amabel. "If I should
be so fortunate as to gain _his_ consent, have I _yours_?"