“No, I frankly don’t. She’s not her father’s child for nothing.” “I look upon it as completely settled, and then I shall have only Lionel to dispose of. Of course I’m far more anxious about him. In all probability he will succeed to the title, and it’s important that he should marry a suitable person.” “What do you mean by that?” He looked at her and smiled. “Well, you know, the Sprattes are poor, and if Lionel has no children the peerage will be extinct. I can allow him to marry no one who hasn’t considerable means and every appearance of promising a healthy family.” “Would it surprise you very much to know that the matter is already somewhat out of your hands? Unless I’m very much mistaken, Lionel is making up his mind to propose to Gwendolen Durant; and unless I’m equally mistaken, Gwendolen Durant is making up her mind to accept him.” “You amaze me,” cried the Canon. “I’ve never even heard of this person.” “Oh, yes, you have; she’s the only daughter of Sir John Durant, the brewer.” “Monstrous! I will never allow Lionel to marry any one of the sort.” “I believe he’s rather in love with her.” “Good heavens, it’s just as easy for him to fall in love with a girl of good family. I did, and upon my word I can’t see why he shouldn’t follow his father’s example.” “The Durants are very nice people, and--prolific,” smiled Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Gwendolen had six brothers, three of whom are still alive, and her father was one of ten children.” “Sir John is only a Jubilee baronet. I would as soon he were a city knight.” “On the other hand, he proposes to give his daughter one hundred and fifty thousand pounds as her marriage portion.” Theodore Spratte turned right round and stared at Mrs. Fitzherbert. “That’s a very large sum,” he smiled. “It certainly may help the course of true love to run smoothly.” “No wonder that Lionel was disinclined to accept the Bishop’s advice to become a total abstainer,” the Canon chuckled. “It would really be rather uncivil if he has matrimonial designs on a brewer’s daughter.” He thoughtfully sipped his wine and allowed this information to settle. Mrs. Fitzherbert turned to somebody else, and the Canon was left for a couple of moments to his own reflections. Presently she smiled at him again. “Well?” “I’ll tell you what I wish you would do. I understand you are deputed to find out my views upon the subject.” “Nothing of the sort,” she interrupted. “Sir John cares nothing for your views. He is a merchant of the old school, and looks upon himself as every man’s equal. I don’t know whether he has thought for a moment of Gwendolen’s future, but you may be quite sure he won’t consider it a very signal honour that she should marry Lionel.” “You express yourself with singular bluntness,” answered the Canon, mildly. “Nor do I know that the young things have settled anything. I merely tell you what my eyes have suggested to me. If you like, I’ll ask the Durants to luncheon, and you can see them for yourself.”