“Ex—actly!” cried the doctor. “Well, Harley seems to have taken a fancy to her at once. Good man—good position—not too old.”
“I don’t know,” said the lady, dubiously, “I don’t quite think they would match.”
“I do,” said the doctor, sharply. “The very man. Plenty of firmness. He’s as genial and warm-hearted as a man can be; but he has a will like iron. He’d break in my young madam there; and, by Jove! ma’am, if I am a judge of woman’s nature—”
“Which you are not, sir,” said the lady, sharply. “Well, perhaps not; but I do say this—if ever there was a Petruchio cut out for our handsome, dark-eyed Katherine, then Neil Harley is the man!”
“Here, doctor, where are you? Come along!” cried the gentleman in question. “Music—music! Miss Perowne has promised to sing!”
“Have you been persuading her, Mr Harley?” said the little lady.
“I? My dear madam, no! She refused me; but has been listening to the blandishments of Captain Lindley; and—there—she is beginning. By Jove! what a voice!”