"Right, did you say? Right? There cannot be a question about that. Which is the more fitting to grace your coronet: Maude, or a country parson's daughter?"
"I'm sure if this goes on I shall shoot myself," cried Val. "Taken to task at the Rectory, taken to task here—shooting would be bliss to it."
"No doubt," returned the dowager. "It can't be a very pleasant position for you. Any one but you would get out of it, and set the matter at rest."
"I should like to know how."
"So long as you are a single man they naturally remain on the high ropes at the Rectory, with their fine visions for Anne—"
"I wish you would understand once for all, Lady Kirton, that the Ashtons are our equals in every way," he interrupted: "and," he added, "in worth and goodness infinitely our superiors."
The dowager gave a sniff. "You think so, I know, Hart. Well, the only plan to bring you peace is this: make Maude your wife. At once; without delay."
The proposition took away Val's breath. "I could not do it, Lady Kirton. To begin with, they'd bring an action against me for breach of promise."
"Breach of nonsense!" wrathfully returned the dowager. "Was ever such a thing heard of yet, as a doctor of divinity bringing an action of that nature? He'd lose his gown."
"I wish I was at the bottom of a deep well, never to come up again!" mentally aspirated the unfortunate man.