"Well, well," said Mr. Forte magnanimously, "I must think it over. In the meantime, my dear lad"--with a smile of resignation he held out his hand and Coventry grasped it emotionally--"go and talk to Rafella."
He went, and a few minutes later the vicar resumed his spectacles, drew the blank sheets of sermon paper towards him, and opened his Bible. He happened to light upon the text:
"Discretion shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee."
And he began to write rapidly.
Mr. Forte had made up his mind that Rafella should marry Captain Coventry in the autumn and go back with him to India. He would miss his daughter sadly, the wrench of parting would be cruel, but such things had to be; God would give him grace to bear the trial.... Otherwise, translated into the vulgar tongue--here was a young man of good character and safe position, with private means and clear prospects, who would make an excellent husband; it was a chance in a thousand, and if the fellow were ready and anxious to marry the penniless daughter of a poverty-stricken country clergyman, the vicar did not intend to discourage him nor to take the hazard of sentimental and unnecessary delays.
His decision was imparted (in the more dignified form) a couple of hours later to the expectant pair, whom he discovered seated close together on the springless sofa in the drawing-room, and there followed an affecting little scene. Tears, embraces, hand-shakes, blessings, assurances, general happy excitement, tinged for father and daughter with natural and touching melancholy.
When it was all over and the vicar had returned to his study, Coventry drew a long breath. The day for him had been one of unaccustomed emotional strain, and he felt a wholesome craving for refreshment.
Almost involuntarily he said: "I'd give anything for a peg!"
"A peg?" echoed Rafella, mystified.
"Meaning a whisky and soda."