The evening papers contained an official announcement that Dr. Gray was appointed to the bishopric of Barchester; but Canon Spratte determined that none should see his bitter disappointment. He had not yet fought down the sense of humiliation with which Lord Stonehenge’s offer overwhelmed him, nor was he reconciled to remaining a London vicar. But he refused to think of his frustrated hopes. He flattered himself on his strength of character, and the world should imagine that he was in the best of spirits. He meant to keep himself well in hand, and in the decided effort to let no one see that he cared, began really to regain his self-esteem. “I think we really ought to talk seriously,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert after a pause, fixing her quiet eyes upon him. “I wonder if you meant all that you said to me the other night?” “Of course I meant it, every word of it, with all my heart,” he cried, emphatically. “Do you think I’m a boy not to know my own mind?” “And you really look upon yourself as solemnly engaged to me?” “I do indeed, and before many weeks are up I mean to lead you to the altar. We’ll have the bishop to marry us, and Tom shall lend us Beachcombe for our honeymoon. Or would you prefer Homburg and the Italian Lakes?” “You know, I shouldn’t be at all annoyed if you told me you were carried away the other night and said more than you intended. You’re a susceptible man and there’s something about a dance that rushes the least emotional off their feet. I think half the unhappy marriages are caused by the proposing of young men when they’ve come to the end of their small talk; and their cowardice next day which prevents them from writing to say they made a mistake.” “But it was no sudden whim on my part,” he exclaimed. “The idea had been growing in my mind for months. Ah, why can’t I make you believe that love may spring up in a man’s heart even though his hair is strewn with silver? I tell you I’m passionately devoted to you, and I insist on marrying you.” Mrs. Fitzherbert smiled and looked at him strangely. He was very gallant and very eager. She wondered if there were ever a word of sincerity in anything he said. “Then let us talk business,” she answered. He threw up his hands in a gesture of disdain. “Why should we? You know I’m not mercenary; let us pretend that no tiresome matters have to be discussed. We can leave it all to our solicitors.” “But it’s very important.” “Nonsense! Nothing’s important except that you’re the most charming woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m a lucky dog to have got hold of you. We’ll never grow any older than we are now; we’ll only grow younger year by year. When will you make me the happiest man in London?” “You go so quickly,” she smiled. He put his arm round her waist and seized her hand.