Such was Mark Robarts when at the age of twenty-five, or a little more, he married Fanny Monsell. The marriage was celebrated in his own church, for Miss Monsell had no home of her own, and had been staying for the last three months at Framley Court. She was given away by Sir George Meredith, and Lady Lufton herself saw that the wedding was what it should be, with almost as much care as she had bestowed on that of her own daughter. The deed of marrying, the absolute tying of the knot, was performed by the Very Reverend the Dean of Barchester, an esteemed friend of Lady Lufton’s. And Mrs. Arabin, the Dean’s wife, was of the party, though the distance from Barchester to Framley is long, and the roads deep, and no railway lends its assistance. And Lord Lufton was there of course; and people protested that he would surely fall in love with one of the four beautiful bridesmaids, of whom Blanche Robarts, the vicar’s second sister, was by common acknowledgment by far the most beautiful. And there was there another and a younger sister of Mark’s--who did not officiate at the ceremony, though she was present--and of whom no prediction was made, seeing that she was then only sixteen, but of whom mention is made here, as it will come to pass that my readers will know her hereafter. Her name was Lucy Robarts. And then the vicar and his wife went off on their wedding tour, the old curate taking care of the Framley souls the while. And in due time they returned; and after a further interval, in due course, a child was born to them; and then another; and after that came the period at which we will begin our story. But before doing so, may not assert that all men were right in saying all manner of good things to the Devonshire physician, and in praising his luck in having such a son? “You were up at the house to-day, I suppose?” said Mark to his wife, as he sat stretching himself in an easy chair in the drawing-room, before the fire, previously to his dressing for dinner. It was a November evening, and he had been out all day, and on such occasions the aptitude for delay in dressing is very powerful. A strong-minded man goes direct from the hall-door to his chamber without encountering the temptation of the drawing-room fire. “No; but Lady Lufton was down here.” “Full of arguments in favour of Sarah Thompson?” “Exactly so, Mark.” “And what did you say about Sarah Thompson?” “Very little as coming from myself; but I did hint that you thought, or that I thought that you thought, that one of the regular trained schoolmistresses would be better.” “But her ladyship did not agree?” “Well, I won’t exactly say that;--though I think that perhaps she did not.” “I am sure she did not. When she has a point to carry, she is very fond of carrying it.” “But then, Mark, her points are generally so good.” “But, you see, in this affair of the school she is thinking more of her _protégée_ than she does of the children.”