“My dear Sophia, next to falling in love with me, myself, you could not give me greater pleasure.”
“She is so lovely,” said the girl.
“A chance for a medallion,” said the Canon. Miss Wilmington had a pretty taste in medallion painting.
“Oh, I couldn’t get her colouring; but I should love to try—and her voice. To me, any one with a gift like that seems above ordinary mortals. You see I am quite ready to worship your angel.”
“My angel?” said the Canon, sharply.
Mrs. Winstanley, who was close by, discussing the Engadine with the Bishop, did not lose a word of the above conversation. At his last exclamation, she shot a swift side glance which caught the momentary confusion and flush on the Canon’s face. She was quite certain now of the sort of fool he was going to make of himself.
Meanwhile, the girl broke into a gay laugh.
“It did sound funny. I meant the angel in the ‘Elijah.’”
“Oh,” said the Canon, “I was forgetting the ‘Elijah.’”
Mrs. Winstanley resolved at least to say a warning word. Before she left, she managed to have a few words with him.