'It would appear that I am the sole person ignorant of the engagement, Miss Whichello.'
'It was not with my consent that you were kept in ignorance, bishop. But I really do not see why you should discourage the match. You can see for yourself that they make a handsome pair.'
Dr Pendle cast an angry look towards the end of the lawn, where George and Mab were talking earnestly together.
'I don't deny their physical suitability,' he said severely, 'but more than good looks are needed to make a happy marriage.'
'Am I to understand that you disapprove of my niece?' cried the little old lady, drawing herself up.
'By no means; by no means; how can you think me so wanting in courtesy? But I must confess that I desire my son to make a good match.'
'You should rather wish him to get a good wife,' retorted Miss Whichello, who was becoming annoyed. 'But if it is fortune you desire, I can set your mind at rest on that point. Mab will inherit my money when I die; and should she marry Captain Pendle during my lifetime, I shall allow the young couple a thousand a year.'
'A thousand a year, Miss Whichello!'
'Yes! and more if necessary. Let me tell you, bishop, I am much better off than people think.'
The bishop, rather nonplussed, looked down at his neat boots and very becoming gaiters. 'I am not so worldly-minded as you infer, Miss Whichello,' said he, mildly; 'and did George desire to marry a poor girl, I have enough money of my own to humour his whim. But if his heart is set on making Miss Arden his wife, I should like—if you will pardon my candour—to know more about the young lady.'