'Mab is the best and most charming girl in the world,' said the little Jennie Wren, pale, and a trifle nervous.
'I can see that for myself. You misunderstand me, Miss Whichello, so I must speak more explicitly. Who is Miss Arden?'
'She is my niece,' replied Miss Whichello, with trembling dignity. 'The only child of my poor sister, who died when Mab was an infant in arms.'
'Quite so!' assented the bishop, with a nod. 'I have always understood such to be the case. But—er—Mr Arden?'
'Mr Arden!' faltered the old lady, turning her face from the company, that its pallor and anxiety might not be seen.
'Her father! is he alive?'
'No!' cried Miss Whichello, shaking her head. 'He died long, long ago.'
'Who was he?'
'A—a—a gentleman!—a gentleman of independent fortune.'
Dr Pendle bit his nether lip and looked embarrassed. 'Miss Whichello,' he said at length, in a hesitating tone, 'your niece is a charming young lady, and, so far as she herself is concerned, is quite fit to become the wife of my son George.'