The last question was put abruptly, the man turning himself full upon Charlotte Pain, and scanning her face. George Godolphin was surprised out of an answer: had he taken a moment for reflection, he might have deemed the question an impertinence, and passed it by. "Miss Cecilia is not in Scotland." "I thought it might be her," said the man; "for Miss Cecil's looks are a country's talk, and I have heard much of them. I see now; there's nought of the Godolphin _there_. But it's a bonny face, young lady: and I dare say there's those that are finding it so." He shambled on, with a gesture of the hand by way of salutation. Charlotte Pain did not dislike the implied compliment. "How can this man marry people?" she exclaimed. "He is no priest." "He can, and he does marry them; and is not interfered with, or forbidden," said George Godolphin. "At least, he did do so. By his own account, his patronage seems to be on the decline." "Did he marry them openly?" "Well--no; I conclude not. If people found it convenient to marry openly, they would not go to him. And why they should go to him at all, puzzles me, and always has: for, the sort of marriage that he performs can be performed by any one wearing a coat, in Scotland, or by the couple themselves. But he has acquired a name, 'Minister Bray;' and a great deal lies in a name for ladies' ears." "Ladies!" cried Charlotte scornfully. "Only the peasants went to him, I am sure." "Others have gone as well as peasants. Bray boasts yet of a fifty-pound note, once put into his hand for pronouncing the benediction. It is a ceremony that we are given to be lavish upon," added George, laughing. "I have heard of money being grudged for a funeral, but I never did for a wedding." "Were I compelled to be a resident of this place, I should get married myself, out of sheer ennui, or do something else as desperate," she exclaimed. "You find it dull?" "It has been more tolerable since you came," she frankly avowed. George raised his hat, and his blue eyes shot a glance into hers. "Thank you, Charlotte." "Why were you so long in coming? Do you know what I had done? I had written a letter to desire Mrs. Verrall to recall me. Another week of it would have turned me melancholy. Your advent was better than nobody's." "Thank you again, mademoiselle. When I promise----" "Promise," she warmly interrupted. "I have learnt what your promises are worth. Oh, but, George, tell me--What was it that you and Lady Godolphin were saying yesterday? It was about Ethel Grame. I only caught a word here and there." "Thomas wishes Lady Godolphin would invite Ethel here for the remainder of their stay. He thinks Ethel would be all the better for a change, after being mured up in that fever-tainted house. But, don't talk of it. It was only a little private negotiation that Thomas was endeavouring to carry out upon his own account. He wrote to me, and he wrote to my lady. Ethel knows nothing of it." "And what does Lady Godolphin say?"