Mr. Brander spoke in his usual light and genial tones, without even the touch of seriousness he had shown when treating of this same subject with his brother. But the effect of his words on his wife was instant and strong. The lines of her handsome mouth grew straight and hard, her low, handsome forehead puckered with an anxious frown as she said sharply—
“He must be stopped.”
The vicar, raising his eyebrows blandly, stroked his chin, and looked out of the window.
“Yes, my dear, I admit that it would be very much for the best if he could be stopped; but the question is, how is it to be done? All we can do is to persuade, exhort, advise. And haven’t we done it—perhaps even overdone it? If Vernon takes it seriously into his head that he will marry, why, marry he will; and I don’t see how all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, can prevent him.”
“Perhaps not,” said his wife, icily. “But I can.”
Her mouth, which was Mrs. Brander’s most eloquent feature, closed with almost a snap, and strongly suggested the idea that her interest in her brother-in-law’s matrimonial inclinations was not purely benevolent.
“Well, my dear, there is no denying that it would be for the best if you could prevent this rather foolish flirtation with a particularly headstrong girl from coming to anything. One can scarcely think that this type of girl, for all her beauty and high spirit I think we must allow her, would make him happy as a wife.”
“I hadn’t thought of the matter from that point of view,” said his wife drily.
The vicar glanced rather uneasily at his wife, whose habit of looking at things from a purely matter-of-fact and practical point of view sometimes jarred upon his more easy-going nature.
He rose from his seat, and prepared to leave the room.