Mr Gwynne hesitated as he said this, not admiring the lady in question, yet thinking it incumbent upon him to pay her a compliment. His daughter glanced inquiringly at Rowland, as if wondering what he could say to so dubious a speech. He appeared equally at a loss, and, as he turned from Mr Gwynne for a moment, caught Miss Gwynne's mirthful eye. He could not help smiling, but said with much spirit,—
'My aunt has been very good to me, Mr Gwynne, and I owe her a heavy debt of gratitude for giving me at least the opportunity of getting on in the world.'
'Well, I like him for that,' thought Freda; 'and are you going to London?' she asked aloud, with a degree of interest.
'I am to be ordained by the Bishop of London to a city curacy,' was the reply.
'Will you allow me to take wine with you and wish you success, sir?' said Mr Gwynne. 'Who knows but we may see you Bishop of London some day? Miss Hall, Freda, will you join us?'
Mr Gwynne became quite animated. He felt proud that the son of his most respectable tenant should be going to take a London curacy.
Freda bent rather less stiffly than usual to Mr Rowland Prothero. She was annoyed with herself for feeling more inclined to be friendly with him since she had heard that he was intimate with young Neville, and was to be ordained by the Bishop of London.
There was more conversation, which it is unnecessary to repeat; but in due course of time the ladies retired to the drawing-room, where they found Miss Nugent awaiting them.
'Whose beaux yeux do you think we have in the dining-room?' asked Freda.
'I am thure I cannot gueth; perhapth Thir Hugh Prythe's,' Miss Nugent lisped.