When Herbert was gone, the Dean said he would return to his study to finish an article he was preparing for a learned magazine on one of the later Roman orators.
“Would you stay a few minutes longer, father?” said Bella; “I have something I wish to talk to you about.”
“Certainly, my dear,” he replied, sitting down. He turned with a quiet smile to Miss Ley. “When Bella used to announce an important communication, my heart sank to my boots, for I always expected she would inform me of her approaching marriage; but I bear it now with equanimity, because it is invariably only to wheedle me into getting a boy into the choir who has every qualification except a voice, or to provide a home for some deserving widow.”
“D’you think I’m too old to marry now?” asked Bella, smiling.
“My dear, for twenty years you’ve refused the most eligible aspirants. Shall we tell Polly about the last one?”
“She wouldn’t tell us.”
“Only two months ago one of our Canons solemnly asked me whether he might pay his addresses to Bella, But she wouldn’t hear of it, because he had seven children by his first wife.”
“He was a singularly dull man into the bargain,” answered Bella.
“Nonsense, my dear; he has a first edition of the Pilgrim’s Progress.”
“Did you like Mr. Field?” asked Bella quietly.