Mr Dale moved on; but as he passed Captain Barnabas, the benignant character of his countenance changed sadly.
"The cruellest trump, Captain Higginbotham!" said he sternly, and stalked by—majestic.
The night was so fine that the Parson and his wife, as they walked home, made a little détour through the shrubbery.
Mrs Dale.—"I think I have done a good piece of work to-night."
Parson, rousing himself from a reverie.—"Have you, Carry?—it will be a very pretty handkerchief."
Mrs Dale.—"Handkerchief!—nonsense, dear. Don't you think it would be a very happy thing for both, if Jemima and Signor Riccabocca could be brought together?"
Parson.—"Brought together!"
Mrs Dale.—"You do snap one up so, my dear—I mean if I could make a match of it."
Parson.—"I think Riccabocca is a match already, not only for Jemima, but yourself into the bargain."
Mrs Dale, smiling loftily.—"Well, we shall see. Was not Jemima's fortune about £4000?"