The state of mind of the Reverend Decimus Dutton was not so calm, not so complacent. He disapproved of the connection. It was worldly; it was, if any thing, "high:" the family circle of the Guyons included a bishop of ritualistic tendencies; on its outer edge to be sure, but he was a relative; and "any thing of that kind," said Decimus to Ellen rather vaguely, "is so very shocking." Again, the diversion of large sums, presumably disposable for missionary purposes under happier, "more consistent circumstances" he called them, according to a phraseology in use among persons of his persuasion, and which is rather oracular than grammatical, into the mundane channels attendant on a "fashionable" marriage, was also "extremely sad." Decimus had come up to town hoping to induce Robert to share his own burning zeal for the mission to the Niger, and he found him engaged to a young lady who looked extremely unlikely to approve of the diversion of any of his wealth in a religio-philanthropical direction; and who had calmly remarked, "Of course you would not suffer your sister to go to such a fatal climate," on hearing that the Reverend Decimus proposed to convey his bride to "Afric's burning plain." The Rev. Decimus Dutton was a youngish man, with a face which would never look much older or much wiser than it looked at present. It was rather a handsome, and decidedly a good face; and it presented an absurd resemblance to that of Ellen Streightley, though there was not the slightest relationship between the amiable enthusiast and his betrothed bride, who believed him in all simple sincerity to be the noblest, best, handsomest of mankind. Perhaps there was a little veneration, due to habit, which is very powerful over such minds as Ellen Streightley's, in favour of Robert; but Decimus was decidedly more pious, there could be no doubt of _that_. A more prejudiced, a narrower-minded, or a better-meaning man than Decimus Dutton probably did not exist; and so admirably matched were he and Ellen Streightley, that those who saw their perfect adaptation to each other were apt to be tempted into using the gentle missionary's cant phrase, and talking of their proposed union as "providential." "O, Decimus dear," began Ellen, as she and Hester entered the room--Miss Streightley was apt to emphasise her speech with interjections,--"Hester is _so_ pleased with my dress. Not that _you_ care about that; still one may as well be decent. Hester must go home now; so just ring and send for a cab." Then followed adieux, and Miss Gould departed. Her face was dark and angry as she drove away; but it cleared after a little, and her thoughts shaped themselves into these words: "After all, no one can rule destiny; and supposing I had loved him, I must have borne it all the same."