This was a bomb-shell indeed: the reverend and middle-aged Arthur suddenly converted into an amateur pater-familias!
"And you consented?" I asked.
"Of course. What else could I do when Wildacre asked me, and he was dying?" That was exactly like Arthur: the thought of himself, and of the upset to his peaceful bachelor existence by the advent of two children into the well-ordered rectory, never once entered into his calculations.
"What age are they?" I asked.
"Eighteen. They are both leaving school this term, and the boy is dreadfully backward; I am going to cram him for Oxford."
We were both silent for a moment; then I felt myself smiling. "It will be rather fun, don't you think?" I ventured to remark.
Arthur smiled too. "That has occurred to me also. It will be such a change to have young things about the place with all their faults and fripperies and follies."
I heartily agreed with him. "It will; for you and Annabel and I have been getting terribly middle-aged lately. I've noticed it; particularly in the case of you and Annabel. And what are their names?"
"If you remember, Wildacre's name was Francis."
"I didn't ask what Wildacre's name was," I murmured persuasively. "I asked what his children are called."