He looked at her and smiled.
“Well, you know, the Sprattes are poor, and if Lionel has no children the peerage will be extinct. I can allow him to marry no one who hasn’t considerable means and every appearance of promising a healthy family.”
“Would it surprise you very much to know that the matter is already somewhat out of your hands? Unless I’m very much mistaken, Lionel is making up his mind to propose to Gwendolen Durant; and unless I’m equally mistaken, Gwendolen Durant is making up her mind to accept him.”
“You amaze me,” cried the Canon. “I’ve never even heard of this person.”
“Oh, yes, you have; she’s the only daughter of Sir John Durant, the brewer.”
“Monstrous! I will never allow Lionel to marry any one of the sort.”
“I believe he’s rather in love with her.”
“Good heavens, it’s just as easy for him to fall in love with a girl of good family. I did, and upon my word I can’t see why he shouldn’t follow his father’s example.”
“The Durants are very nice people, and—prolific,” smiled Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Gwendolen had six brothers, three of whom are still alive, and her father was one of ten children.”
“Sir John is only a Jubilee baronet. I would as soon he were a city knight.”