Mr. Verrall gave a nod; and, drawing Rodolf Pain to a far window, stood there talking to him for some minutes in an undertone. Mrs. Verrall, who never concerned herself with matters of business, never would listen to them, went out on the terrace, a pale pink parasol with its white fringe, held between her face and the sun. While thus standing, the distant bells of All Souls', which had been ringing occasional peals throughout the day, smote faintly upon her ear. She went in again. "Verrall," said she, "if you come out, you can hear the bells. Do you know what they are ringing for?" "What bells? Why should I listen to them?" inquired Mr. Verrall, turning from Rodolf Pain. "They are ringing for George Godolphin's wedding. He has been married to-day." The information appeared--as Rodolf Pain would have expressed it, had he given utterance to his sentiments--to strike Mr. Verrall all of a heap. "George Godolphin married to-day!" he repeated, in profound astonishment, remembering the weak state George had been in when he had left Prior's Ash, some weeks before. "Married or buried, do you mean?" Mrs. Verrall laughed. "Oh, he has got well from his illness: or, nearly so," she said. "The bells would ring muffled peals, if he were buried, Verrall, as they did for Sir George." "And whom has he married?" continued Mr. Verrall, not in the least getting over his astonishment. "Maria Hastings." Mr. Verrall stroked his yellow moustache; a somewhat recent appendage to his beauty. He was by no means a demonstrative man--except on rare occasions--and though the tidings evidently made a marked impression on him, he said nothing. "Is Charlotte at the wedding?" he casually asked. "No strangers were invited," replied Mrs. Verrall. "Lady Godolphin came for it, and is staying at Ashlydyat. She has put off her weeds for to-day, and appears in colours: glad enough, I know, of the excuse for doing so." "Where is Charlotte?" resumed Mr. Verrall. He happened to look at Rodolf Pain as he spoke, and the latter answered, pointing towards some trees on the right. "She went down there with her dogs. I'll go and find her." Mr. Verrall watched him away, and then turned to his wife: speaking, however, impassively still. "You say he has married Maria Hastings? How came Charlotte to let him slip through her fingers?" "Because she could not help it, I suppose," replied Mrs. Verrall, shrugging her pretty shoulders. "I never thought Charlotte had any chance with George Godolphin, Maria Hastings being in the way. Had Charlotte been first in the field, it might have made all the difference. He had fallen in love with Maria Hastings before he ever saw Charlotte." Mr. Verrall superciliously drew down his lips at the corners. "Don't talk about a man's 'falling in love,' Kate. Girls fall in love: men know better. Charlotte has played her cards badly," he added, with some emphasis.