“It was not a marriage.”
“No?” said Cheriton, with a sudden access of interest which was open to misinterpretation.
“Polly married the village curate, who hadn’t a shilling.”
“Poor devil.”
“To which of the contracting parties do you refer?” said Caroline, incisively.
“Must have been a poor devil if he hadn’t a shilling.”
“Of course,” said Caroline, “the Family never forgave her. Dearest papa forbade her the neighborhood. He might have forgiven the village, and he might have forgiven the curacy, but he could not forgive the shilling.”
“Naturally,” said Cheriton. “But I’ve known parsons’ daughters turn out very well before now. I’ve seen one or two who looked capital in the Gayety chorus. What’s the age of the gal?”
“Nineteen.”
“An alluring period. Has she a good disposition?”