The marquis laughed in the broad Yorkshire manner.
“I suppose, Cheriton,” said he, “we must congratulate you.”
George laid down Horse and Hound. Cheriton, who seemed far more preoccupied with George’s behavior than with Kendal’s question, favored the former with a gesture of humorous despair.
“I believe,” said he to Kendal, “that you regular churchgoers go to church mainly to keep abreast of the times.”
“Well, there’s no denying,” said Kendal, with a wink at George, “that we do not contrive to do that.”
“Well, my dear fellow,” said Cheriton, “there is such a thing as you regular churchgoers getting a little in front of the times.”
“People seem to think she is the most beautiful girl in England,” said the marquis. “Priscilla is very jealous.”
“If I were half as handsome as Priscilla,” said Cheriton, discreetly—for personal beauty was certainly not Priscilla’s strong point—“I should not be jealous of a poor parson’s daughter.”
“Funny cattle, y’know,” said Kendal, with an air of wisdom. “You young bachelors have got that to find out. What do you say, George?”
George, whose experience of the sex was extensive and peculiar, gave a grunt of ponderous solemnity.