“Dear! Oh, not for the good they are,” said Polly. “You never want another winter mantle all your life. You’re set up. That makes them cheap in the end; but they cost a deal of money. I haven’t seen nobody with one in all the Abbey, except the Canon’s ladies.” “Then you shall have one!” said Captain Despard. He looked like a prince, Polly thought, as he stood there glowing with generous purpose. The sound of the “O--Oh!” with which she received the offer rang through the Lodges. Such a shriek of pleasure had not been heard there since there had been Chevaliers in St. Michael’s. They went out together, all beaming, arm in arm, the bride clinging fondly to her husband, the Captain looking down with delighted protection upon his bride. This sight, which is so pretty in some cases, and calls forth, if much amusement, often a great deal of sympathy, roused anything but friendly feelings in the Lodges, where the good people were getting ready for the afternoon service. Old fool was the best name they had for the bridegroom, though he was not very old; and Polly was a grievance which the ladies could not tolerate. They looked after her from their windows with feelings which were far from Christian. It was a thing they ought not to have been exposed to. There should have been an appeal to the Queen, if the gentlemen had the least energy. “But even the Queen, bless her! could not keep a man from marrying,” the Warden said, deprecatingly. He did not like it any more than they did; but it is only when you are yourself of the executive that you know the difficulties of action; that is why the ladies are such critics--they have not got it to do.