I sat down on a garden bench. "Molly," I said, "you hold the private character of Lord Fylingdale in the highest esteem, do you not?"
"There is no better man living. This makes me ashamed of being so loath to marry him."
"Well, but, Molly, consider. Who hath bestowed this fine character upon his lordship?"
"Everybody who knows him—Sam Semple, for one. He is never weary of singing the praises of his patron."
"He is a grateful soul, and, on his own account, a pillar of truth. I will show you presently what an ornament he is to truth. Who else?"
"The Reverend Benjamin Purdon, once his tutor. Surely he ought to know."
"Surely. Nobody ought to know better. I will show you presently how admirable a witness to character this reverend divine must be esteemed."
"There is Sir Harry Malyns, who assured us that his lordship is thought to be too virtuous for the world of fashion."
"He is himself, like the parson, a fine judge of character. Is that all?"
"No. The Lady Anastasia herself spoke to me of his nobility."