He sighed heavily.
“In short, Owen, if, as Lucilla tells me, you share her own view, then I shall not withhold my consent to this marriage. The haste is strange and unseemly, but Captain Cuscaden cannot postpone his departure, in view of the position awaiting him, and my unhappy child, left here, would be in a difficult and awkward situation, nor have I any security, alas, that she has sufficient discretion to face such a situation.”
“It might be difficult for her,” Quentillian admitted. “Lucilla is looking for us, I think, sir.”
Lucilla was indeed advancing towards them.
The Canon frowned slightly.
“Am I wanted, my child?”
“It was Owen that I wanted, father.”
“My dear, Owen is engaged with me.”
“I know,” Lucilla seemed slightly perplexed, but quite unruffled. “I know, but the post is just going, and I thought Owen ought to see this before I send it to the papers.”
She handed him a sheet of notepaper, upon which he read a brief and conventionally-worded announcement to the effect that the marriage arranged between himself and Valeria Morchard would not take place.