“So I’ve always understood,” she answered with a smile, amused because the Canon would not acknowledge that Wroxham was far and away the best parti of the season.
Mrs. Fitzherbert had quickly taken Theodore’s measure, and it was a curious satisfaction, sweet and bitter at the same time, to find defects of character in the man who had once appeared so romantic a hero. She looked upon him with oddly mingled feelings. Her sense of humour caused her vastly to enjoy the rich comedy of his behaviour, but she preserved for him, almost against her will, a certain tenderness. He had made her suffer so much. She saw that he was often absurd, but liked him none the less. Though she discovered the feet of clay, she could not forget that once he had seemed a golden idol. She was willing to forgive the faults she now saw clearly, rather than think she had loved quite foolishly. The Canon felt her sympathy and opened his heart as to an old friend with a frankness he showed to no one else. The smile in her handsome eyes never warned him that she tore him to shreds, not unkindly but with deliberation, piece by piece.
Mrs. Fitzherbert asked how long Winnie had been engaged, and was somewhat astounded at his answer.
“He hasn’t spoken to her yet, but we’ve talked it over between us, he and I, and he’s to come to luncheon to-morrow to make his declaration.”
“Then Winnie hasn’t been consulted?” she exclaimed.
“My dear lady, do you imagine for a moment she’ll refuse?”
Mrs. Fitzherbert laughed.
“No, I frankly don’t. She’s not her father’s child for nothing.”
“I look upon it as completely settled, and then I shall have only Lionel to dispose of. Of course I’m far more anxious about him. In all probability he will succeed to the title, and it’s important that he should marry a suitable person.”
“What do you mean by that?”