"Oh, I'm not going to marry you either, so you needn't be alarmed. Can't you make some suggestions to help me out?"
"I am afraid you must excuse me," he said, fast becoming scandalised at her matter-of-fact way of approaching the subject.
"Well, of course," she went on thoughtfully, "there are all your father's chaplains, but they're young, and prone to take things seriously. No, I don't think they'd do. And there's the butler. No, he wouldn't answer, either."
"Perhaps Miss Matilda would lend you Professor Smith."
"No," she said, "I don't think I'd have the heart to deprive her of him. On the whole, I think I'll marry Mr. Spotts. He's nice—and handy."
"But mightn't he have something to say?" began Banborough.
"Probably," admitted Violet; "but he generally does what he's told, and as he isn't married to any one else, I dare say he'll prove amenable when he understands the position. I'll try and see him this morning, and," as a brilliant idea struck her, "your father shall perform the ceremony. I never was married by a Bishop before. Won't it be jolly!"
"You surely can't seriously intend—" began Cecil.
"Yes, I do. Now don't be stupid, but run along and let me finish my toilet." And she ran out of the room.
Banborough walked away in a maze. He had thought to straighten matters out, and he had only got them into a far worse tangle. That Miss Arminster had no conscientious scruples about adding another husband to her quota was bad enough, but that his innocent, unsuspecting father should be allowed to disgrace his cloth by solemnising such a marriage was really more than he could stand. In his righteous wrath he determined that the Bishop should know the whole truth, soothing his conscience by the thought that if he did not tell him, Miss Matilda would.