“My niece has chosen another suitor—­has chosen him, you know.  I have had nothing to do with it.  I should have preferred Chettam; and I should have said Chettam was the man any girl would have chosen.  But there is no accounting for these things.  Your sex is capricious, you know.”

“Why, whom do you mean to say that you are going to let her marry?” Mrs. Cadwallader’s mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities of choice for Dorothea.

But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the garden, and the greeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke from the necessity of answering immediately.  He got up hastily, and saying, “By the way, I must speak to Wright about the horses,” shuffled quickly out of the room.

“My dear child, what is this?—­this about your sister’s engagement?” said Mrs. Cadwallader.

“She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon,” said Celia, resorting, as usual, to the simplest statement of fact, and enjoying this opportunity of speaking to the Rector’s wife alone.

“This is frightful.  How long has it been going on?”

“I only knew of it yesterday.  They are to be married in six weeks.”

“Well, my dear, I wish you joy of your brother-in-law.”

“I am so sorry for Dorothea.”

“Sorry!  It is her doing, I suppose.”

“Yes; she says Mr. Casaubon has a great soul.”

“With all my heart.”

“Oh, Mrs. Cadwallader, I don’t think it can be nice to marry a man with a great soul.”

“Well, my dear, take warning.  You know the look of one now; when the next comes and wants to marry you, don’t you accept him.”

“I’m sure I never should.”

“No; one such in a family is enough.  So your sister never cared about Sir James Chettam?  What would you have said to him for a brother-in-law?”

“I should have liked that very much.  I am sure he would have been a good husband.  Only,” Celia added, with a slight blush (she sometimes seemed to blush as she breathed), “I don’t think he would have suited Dorothea.”

“Not high-flown enough?”

“Dodo is very strict.  She thinks so much about everything, and is so particular about what one says.  Sir James never seemed to please her.”

“She must have encouraged him, I am sure.  That is not very creditable.”

“Please don’t be angry with Dodo; she does not see things.  She thought so much about the cottages, and she was rude to Sir James sometimes; but he is so kind, he never noticed it.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Cadwallader, putting on her shawl, and rising, as if in haste, “I must go straight to Sir James and break this to him.  He will have brought his mother back by this time, and I must call.  Your uncle will never tell him.  We are all disappointed, my dear.  Young people should think of their families in marrying.  I set a bad example—­married a poor clergyman, and made myself a pitiable object among the De Bracys—­obliged