“Indeed,” said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air, “and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your service, as you know,” he added apologetically.
“This,” he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way that made him start.
“What—my coat, do you mean?”
“Don’t be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice.”
“Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I admit that the arithmetic——”
“No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don’t wish her to go to the school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I want to marry her.”
The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright? Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be true!
“I am indeed flattered,” he said. “It is more than she could expect—not but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever,” he added hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter’s market value.
“Good-looking—clever; she is an angel,” murmured Owen.
“Oh, yes, of course she is,” said her father, “that is, if a woman—yes, of course—and what is more, I think she’s very fond of you. I think she is pining for you. I’ve thought so for a long time.”