Dangerfield had gone away some time--so had Mervyn--Sturk and his wife
went next, and Cluffe and Puddock, who lingered as long as was decent,
at last took leave. The plump lieutenant went away very happy,
notwithstanding the two or three little rubs he had met with, and a good
deal more in love than ever. And he and his companion were both
thoughtful, and the walk home was quite silent, though very pleasant.
Cluffe was giving shape mentally to his designs upon Miss Rebecca's
L20,000 and savings. He knew she had had high offers in her young days
and refused; but those were past and gone--and gray hairs bring
wisdom--and women grow more practicable as the time for action
dwindles--and she was just the woman to take a fancy--and 'once the
maggot bit,' to go any honest length to make it fact. And Cluffe knew
that he had the field to himself, and that he was a well-made, handsome,
agreeable officer--not so young as to make the thing absurd, yet young
enough to inspire the right sort of feeling. To be sure, there were a
few things to be weighed. She was, perhaps--well, she _was_ eccentric.
She had troublesome pets and pastimes--he knew them all--was well
stricken in years, and had a will of her own--that was all.
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