Mr. Lufton had, however, proposed to two of Mrs. Troubridge's sisters and to three of Mrs. Troubridge's young lady visitors without a favourable answer, and for a short while after each refusal the poor fellow felt as though he was doomed to a life of single blessedness. Apparently he had never come in at the critical time in any young lady's life; indeed, the objects of his affection were generally girls in their teens, who had no idea of giving up all amusement and society for him. He was little in stature, his hair and whiskers were rather red, and he was a bad dancer. The many refusals he had met with had made him rather a butt among Mrs. Troubridge's circle of acquaintance. That lady's real dislike to the bush was seen through her affected recommendation of it; and the wish to be a neighbour within twenty—nine or thirty miles of that lady could not compensate for the distance from every other pleasant friend and acquaintance. Still, in spite of so many refusals, Mr. Lufton was desirous of winning a young and a pretty wife, and had never proposed to any one whom he did not consider to be both.
Mrs. Troubridge had heard much of the Rose of Branxholm, and of the beauty and refinement of that singularly planted flower, and would have welcomed the whole family of the Lindsays to
