“Nor do I know that the young things have settled anything. I merely tell you what my eyes have suggested to me. If you like, I’ll ask the Durants to luncheon, and you can see them for yourself.”
“But tell me, does she lead one to imagine that she’ll——” he hesitated for a moment, but made a dash for it, “breed well?”
“My dear Canon, I never considered her from that point of view,” laughed Mrs. Fitzherbert.
Canon Spratte smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“One must be practical. Of course a great change has come over the opinion of society with regard to the position of merchants, and one mustn’t lag behind the times.”
“A Conservative member of Parliament is still an object of admiration to many,” murmured Mrs. Fitzherbert.
“Well, well, I’m not the man to stand in the way of my children’s happiness, and if I find that Lionel loves the girl, I promise you to put no obstacle in his way.”
Lady Hollington rose from her chair, and with a rustling sweep of silk skirts, with a quick gleam of diamonds, the ladies followed one another from the dining-room. Their host took his glass and moved round the table to sit by his most distinguished guest. But Canon Spratte, like a wise man, had already seized the opportunity. He drew his chair near that of Lord Stonehenge. The Prime Minister, obese and somnolent, turned upon him for a moment his dull, suspicious eyes, and then sunk his head strangely into his vast corpulence.
“I’m sorry to see that poor Andover is dead,” said the Canon, blandly.
His neighbour, meditative as a cow chewing the cud, made no sign that he heard the observation; but Canon Spratte was by no means disconcerted.