He is not a bad man, he would not do anything that the world--his world, at least--would consider dishonourable; but as to reflecting upon the cruelty of inflicting wounds, never to be healed, upon the hearts of young ladies--why, he would as soon reflect upon the wounds he gave an enemy in the battle-field.

He considers Cupid as fair game as Mars, and thinks that if women will be weak, and if he is irresistible, it is no fault of his, but rather their and his misfortune.
Young ladies! the vulgar saying that a woman should never give her heart to a man until she is asked for it, is, like many vulgar sayings, a good one.

Colonel Vaughan is the type of a class amongst which all are liable to be thrown; and although men of his talent, knowledge of the world, and apparent sincerity are rare, you may each of you meet with one such.
If you do, beware of falling in love with him until he plainly tells you that he is in love with you, and asks if you are willing to marry him.
Colonel Vaughan leaves the drawing-room in search of Mr Gwynne, humming a little Scotch air, the _refrain_ of which is 'and troth I'll wed ye a,' a thing he has often wished he could actually do.
He finds Mr Gwynne in his library, and reminds him of the promised ride.
The horses are ordered, and they are soon trotting down the drive.

As if by mutual consent, they take the turn that leads to Pentre, Lady Mary Nugent's place.

It is about a mile from Glanyravon, and beautifully situated on a hill that commands a fine prospect of dale, wood, and river.
The handsome mother and daughter are at home, and hail the arrivals with great glee.