“Well, there is Mr Bloxam; he is the eldest. To speak quite candidly, he must be at least forty-six. My dear, it’s a shame of me to talk like this, for you cannot help yourself, and I know you’ll have to marry him, and I think it’s a great shame. If it had been young Wardley, now—”
“A—is Mr Wardley young?”
“Yes. My dear, you and Wardley would suit each other just beautifully. He is not so very young either; he must be nearly thirty, but I have known him ever since he first came out—quite a boy. He has a temper, but his wife could manage him perfectly if she weren’t a fool or old enough to be his mother.”
“I wonder,” said Stella, after a reflective pause, “why Mr Wardley—you say he is good-looking?”
“He’s handsome, my dear.”
“I wonder why he didn’t try and like some girl out here, instead of letting them pick one out for him at home; especially as he has last choice, or rather has to take the one neither of the others want.”
“All pique, my dear. Young Wardley did like a girl, a nasty little cat, who flirted with him and threw him over, and has been sorry enough for it ever since. Just after they quarrelled he met old Bloxam and Winterton, who could not get out wives until a third minister wanted one. They persuaded him to put his name to a paper asking to have one sent out to him as well, and he foolishly did so without considering. I know he has regretted it ever since. I told him he was a fool just after he had done it.”
“Does he a—care for the other girl still?”
“Not he; he never really cared for her a bit. Dear me! when I think of his being tied to one of those stiff, proper old tabbies I feel quite wretched. I know who it will be; just see if it isn’t Lavinia, with the lip and the spectacles. Winterton is by no means a fool, and you may be sure he will leave her alone. I don’t say there’s much choice between them, because, my dear, leaving you to one side, this is just the commonest lot they have ever sent out; but I’m sure no man would marry that old thing unless he had to. Now, Matilda—what’s her name? Whitmore, eh?—she’d not be so bad if you could fatten her up and shake her a bit, and get her right away from that Lavinia, whom I simply can’t bear.”
“How will they—when will they tell us—I mean, how will it all be arranged?”