It was her left hand & a ring set with diamonds twinkled on it. “Worth all the world to me!” he answered; then lifted the hand to his lips & turned away. As his receding steps sounded through the hall, Georgie Rivers, taking a screen from the mantel-piece, sat down on the rug before the fire, with a thoughtful face out of which all the sauciness had vanished. As she watched the fire-light play on her ring, she began to think half-aloud as her childish fashion was; but Guy was cantering along the high road to West Adamsborough, & if there had been anyone to tell him what she said, he would [have] laughed—& [have] doubted it. As there was no one, however, Georgie kept her meditations to herself. “I know he thinks me a coquette,” she whispered, leaning her head against her hand, “& he thinks I like to trifle with him—perhaps he is angry—(he looks very handsome when he is angry) but he doesn’t know—how should he?—that I mean to break it off. I ought to have done it today, & I might have ended that beginning of a quarrel by giving him back the ring; but, oh dear, I wish—I wish I didn’t care for him quite so much. He is so cool & handsome! And he is the only man I ever knew who neither despises me nor is afraid of me. Oh, Georgie, Georgie, you miserable little fool! I didn’t mean to let him kiss my hand; he surprised me into it, just as he surprised me into accepting him. He always puts me off my guard, somehow! But it must be done. Perhaps I am in love with him, but I hope I haven’t quite lost my common sense. It must be done, I say! I declare, I shall make an utter goose of myself in a minute! Where’s that letter?” She put her hand into her pocket, & brought out an envelope, pompously sealed with a large coat of arms & motto; &, drawing out the folded sheet which it contained, slowly read aloud these words, written in a crabbed, old-fashioned hand:

My dear Miss Rivers: Ever since I was honoured by an introduction to you, my admiration for your charms & accomplishments has increased; & I have been sufficiently marked by your favour to hope that what I am about to say may not seem an entirely unwarrantable liberty. Although we are separated by many years, I do not perceive why that should be an obstacle to a happy union; & I therefore venture to beg that, if the profoundest admiration & respect can awaken responsive sentiments in your own bosom, you will honour me with your hand. I shall await with impatience your reply to my proposals, & am, my dear Miss Rivers, with deep esteem, Your faithful Servant

“Breton.”

Georgie folded the letter again, & went on with her reflections in this wise. “I suppose I should have let him know that I was engaged to Guy, but it was so jolly to have an old Lord dangling about one, head over ears in love, &, figuratively speaking, going down on his noble, gouty knees every time one came into the room. And I really didn’t think it would come to a climax so soon! I marked him by my favour, did I? And the poor old creature has got tipsy, like an old blue-bottle on a little drop of syrup. He is really in love with me! Me, Georgie Rivers, a wicked, fast, flirtatious little pauper—a lazy, luxurious coquette! Oh, Guy, Guy!—I mean, Oh, Lord Breton, Lord—ha? what’s the matter?” For something dropped close by Georgie’s ring, that sparkled as clearly in the fire-light as its own diamonds. “Crying! Crying! I thought I had no heart. I have always been told so. Ah, the horrid thing.” She brushed the bright thing that was not a diamond away, but just then her eyes brimmed over with two more, & she was obliged to dry them with her pocket handkerchief, talking on all the while. “This is too ridiculous. Georgie getting sentimental! Georgie booh-hoohing over a lover, when she’s got a real, live Lord, with a deer-park, & a house in London & ever so much a year, at her feet! What else have I always wished for? But, come, I will think of it calmly. Say I am in love with Guy (if I have no heart, how can I love anybody?) say I am in love with him. He is poor, rather extravagant, lazy & just as luxurious as I am. Now, what should we live on? I should have to mend my clothes, & do the shopping, & I should never ride or dance or do anything worth living for any more; but there would be pinching & patching & starvation (politely called economy) & I should get cross, & Guy would get cross, & we should fight, fight, fight! Now—take the other side of the picture. First, Lord B. is really in love with me. Second, he is venerable, sleepy & fixed in his own ruts, & would give me twice as much liberty as a younger man; third, I should have three fine houses, plenty of horses & as many dresses as I could wear, (& I have a large capacity in that way!) & nothing to do but coquet with all the handsome boys whose heads I chose to turn; fourth, I should be Lady Breton of Lowood, & the first lady in the county! Hurrah!” As Georgie ended this resumé of the advantages of her ancient suitor, she clapped her hands together & jumped up from the hearth-rug. “It must be done. I am sure Guy & I could never be happy together, & I shall write & tell him so, the sooner the better.