‘You are not going to die; you are coming to this Spanish place, which will give you lungs of brass.’
‘Spanish place? How do you know? I have not slept into to-morrow, have I? That Robin has not flown to Wrapworth and back since three o’clock?’
‘No, I was only inquiring at Mrs. Murrell’s.’
‘Oh, you silly, silly person, why couldn’t you come here?’
‘I did not want to bother you.’
‘For shame, for shame; if you say that again I shall know you have not forgiven me. It is a moral against using words too strong for the occasion! So Robert carried you the offer of the chaplaincy, and you mean to have it!’
‘I could not help coming, as he desired, to see what you thought of it.’
‘I only know,’ she said, half crying, yet laughing, ‘that you had better marry me out of hand before I get into any more mischief.’
The chaplaincy was promising. The place was on the lovely coast of Andalusia. There was a small colony of English engaged in trade, and the place was getting into favour with invalids. Mervyn’s correspondent was anxious to secure the services of a good man, and the society of a lady-like wife, and
offered to guarantee a handsome salary, such as justified the curate in giving up his chance of a college living; and though it was improbable that he would ever learn a word of Spanish, or even get so far as the pronunciation of the name of the place, the advantages that the appointment offered were too great to be rejected, when Lucilla’s health needed a southern climate.