“As a suitor for Miss Tyler’s hand?” said I.
The captain looked at me; gradually a smile came on his remarkably comely face.
“Look here, Foulkes,” said he very good-humouredly, “just you congratulate me on being able to do as I like. Never mind what you may happen to be thinking behind that sallow old fiddle-head of yours.”
“And Miss Tyler is, I’m sure, radiantly happy?”
Captain Fullard’s candour abode till the end. “Well, Nettie hasn’t done badly for herself, looking at it all round, you know.”
With all respect to the late Sir Thomas, and even allowing for a terrible shock and a trying interval, I did not think she had.
Miss Gladwin gave them a splendid wedding at Worldstone. Her manner to them both was most cordial, and she was gay beyond the wont of her staid demeanour. I do not think there was affectation in this.
When the bride and bridegroom—on this occasion again by no means overwhelmed—had departed amidst cheers, when the rout of guests had gone, when the triumphal arch was being demolished and the rustics were finishing the beer, she walked with me in the garden while I smoked a cigar. (There’s nothing like a wedding for making you want a cigar.)
After we had finished our gossiping about how well everything had gone off—and that things in her house should go off well was very near to Beatrice Gladwin’s heart—we were silent for a while. Then she turned to me and said: “I’m very content, Mr Foulkes.” Her face was calm and peaceful; she did not look so hard.
“I’m glad that doing the handsome thing brings content. I wonder if you know how glad I am?”