“I should have to sound him first,” Adrian explained. “I suppose you’d want a youngish fellow and—and I suppose you’d rather he was married?”
“Not in the least.”
Adrian looked disturbed.
“I thought a parson’s wife was useful in a large, straggling sort of place like this. Not that it matters to me.”
“Is your friend married, Adrian?” Val enquired.
Quentillian could not decide whether the simplicity of her manner was ironical or no.
“He isn’t married at present. I think he’s engaged. You see, a living like this would justify a man in getting married, wouldn’t it?”
“It would depend on the sort of person he wished to marry.”
“Supposing she had a little money of her own?”
“The sort of girls who marry clergymen never do have money of their own,” said Quentillian, firmly.