"Upon my word, we were enchanted by your eloquence, Mr Gresham, were we not?" said Miss Oriel, turning to one of the de Courcy girls who was with her.
Miss Oriel was a very pretty girl; a little older than Frank Gresham,—perhaps a year or so. She had dark hair, large round dark eyes, a nose a little too broad, a pretty mouth, a beautiful chin, and, as we have said before, a large fortune;—that is, moderately large—let us say twenty thousand pounds, there or thereabouts. She and her brother had been living at Greshamsbury for the last two years, the living having been purchased for him—such were Mr Gresham's necessities—during the lifetime of the last old incumbent. Miss Oriel was in every respect a nice neighbour; she was good-humoured, lady-like, lively, neither too clever nor too stupid, belonging to a good family, sufficiently fond of this world's good things, as became a pretty young lady so endowed, and sufficiently fond, also, of the other world's good things, as became the mistress of a clergyman's house.
"Indeed, yes," said the Lady Margaretta. "Frank is very eloquent. When he described our rapid journey from London, he nearly moved me to tears. But well as he talks, I think he carves better."
"I wish you'd had to do it, Margaretta; both the carving and talking."
"Thank you, Frank; you're very civil."
"But there's one comfort, Miss Oriel; it's over now, and done. A fellow can't be made to come of age twice."
"But you'll take your degree, Mr Gresham; and then, of course, there'll be another speech; and then you'll get married, and there will be two or three more."
"I'll speak at your wedding, Miss Oriel, long before I do at my own."
"I shall not have the slightest objection. It will be so kind of you to patronise my husband."
"But, by Jove, will he patronise me? I know you'll marry some awful bigwig, or some terribly clever fellow; won't she, Margaretta?"