Now Mr. George Uplift, who usually rode in buckskins whether he was after
the fox or fresh air, was out on this particular morning; and it happened
that, as the cavalcade wound beneath the down, Mr. George trotted along
the ridge. He was a fat-faced, rotund young squire--a bully where he
might be, and an obedient creature enough where he must be--good-humoured
when not interfered with; fond of the table, and brimful of all the jokes
of the county, the accent of which just seasoned his speech. He had
somehow plunged into a sort of half-engagement with Miss Carrington.
At his age, and to ladies of Miss Carrington's age, men unhappily do not
plunge head-foremost, or Miss Carrington would have had him long before.
But he was at least in for it half a leg; and a desperate maiden, on the
criminal side of thirty, may make much of that. Previous to the visit of
the Countess de Saldar, Mr. George had been in the habit of trotting over
to Beckley three or four times a week. Miss Carrington had a little
money: Mr. George was heir to his uncle. Miss Carrington was lean and
blue-eyed.

Mr. George was black-eyed and obese. By everybody, except Mr. George, the
match was made: but that exception goes for little in the country, where
half the population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely devote
themselves to continuing the species. Mr. George was certain that he had
not been fighting shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had he been
unfaithful. He had only been in an extraordinary state of occupation.
Messages for Lady Racial had to be delivered, and he had become her
cavalier and escort suddenly. The young squire was bewildered; but as
he was only one leg in love--if the sentiment may be thus spoken of
figuratively--his vanity in his present office kept him from remorse or
uneasiness.