The vicar leaped as though he had been stung. Like so many vicars, he had a poor opinion of curates, and he had always regarded Augustine as rather below than above the general norm or level of the despised class.
'What!' he cried.
'A most excellent idea,' said the bishop, beaming. 'A very happy notion, I call it.'
'My daughter!' The vicar seemed dazed. 'My daughter marry a curate!'
'You were a curate once yourself, Pieface.'
'Yes, but not a curate like that.'
'No!' said the bishop. 'You were not. Nor was I. Better for us both had we been. This young man, I would have you know, is the most outstandingly excellent young man I have ever encountered. Are you aware that scarcely an hour ago he saved me with the most consummate address from a large shaggy dog with black spots and a kink in his tail? I was sorely pressed, Pieface, when this young man came up and, with a readiness of resource and an accuracy of aim which it would be impossible to over-praise, got that dog in the short ribs with a rock and sent him flying.'
The vicar seemed to be struggling with some powerful emotion. His eyes had widened.
'A dog with black spots?'
'Very black spots. But no blacker, I fear, than the heart they hid.'