I suppose this is the way of women.

At times I have been impatient with it, knowing my own mind well enough.
At least now, in my tight-strapped trousers and my long blue coat and my deep embroidered waistcoat and my high stock, my shining boots and my tall beaver, I made my way on my well-groomed horse up to the gates of old Elmhurst; and as I rode I pondered and I dreamed.
But Miss Elisabeth was not at home, it seemed.

Her father, Mr.Daniel Churchill, rather portly and now just a trifle red of face, met me instead.

It was not an encounter for which I devoutly wished, but one which I knew it was the right of both of us to expect ere long.

Seeing the occasion propitious, I plunged at once _in medias res_.