Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort, and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies’s matrimonial intentions.
“Ah, well,” he said, “I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven; yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay that we shall find Beatrice in.”
So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to himself.
In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
“Where is Beatrice?” asked her father.
“I don’t know,” she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
“Ah, Beatrice,” said her father, “we were just asking for you.”
She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly perceived that some new danger threatened her.
“Indeed,” she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born of fear. “What is it, father?”
Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door. It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two persons principally concerned.