What if that sweet girl, that angel whom he so worshipped, what if she, melted by his tale of sorrow--that is, if he could prevail on himself to tell it--should take pity, and consent to be hurried prematurely to the altar of Hymen; and then if, after all, the legacy should be forfeited! Poverty for himself he could endure; at least he thought so; but poverty for her! could he bear that?
What if he should live to see her deprived of that green headdress, robbed of those copious draperies, reduced to English shoes, compelled to desert that shrine in Hanover Square, and all through him! His brain reeled round, his head swam, his temples throbbed, his knees knocked against each other, his blood stagnated, his heart collapsed, a cold clammy perspiration covered him from head to foot; he could hardly reach the courtyard, and there obtain the support of a pillar.

Dreadful thoughts filled his mind; the Thames, the friendly Thames, was running close to him; should he not put a speedy end to all his misery?
Those horrid words, that 'seven to one on the Lying-in,' still rang in his ears; were the chances really seven to one against his getting his legacy?
'Oh!' said he, 'my aunt, my aunt, my aunt, my aunt, my aunt!' "But at last he roused the spirit of the man within him.

'Faint heart never won fair lady,' seemed to be whispered to him from every stone in Somerset House.

The cool air blowing through the passages revived him, and he walked forth through the wide portals, resolving that he would return a happy, thriving lover, or that he would return no more--that night.

What would he care for Sir Gregory, what for the thin locks of the senior clerk, if Crinoline should reject him?
"It was his custom, as he walked towards Tavistock Square, to stop at a friendly pastry-cook's in Covent Garden, and revive his spirits for the coming interview with Banbury tarts and cherry-brandy.