“Very well.  She is engaged to be married.”  Mrs. Cadwallader paused a few moments, observing the deeply hurt expression in her friend’s face, which he was trying to conceal by a nervous smile, while he whipped his boot; but she soon added, “Engaged to Casaubon.”

Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it up.  Perhaps his face had never before gathered so much concentrated disgust as when he turned to Mrs. Cadwallader and repeated, “Casaubon?”

“Even so.  You know my errand now.”

“Good God!  It is horrible!  He is no better than a mummy!” (The point of view has to be allowed for, as that of a blooming and disappointed rival.)

“She says, he is a great soul.—­A great bladder for dried peas to rattle in!” said Mrs. Cadwallader.

“What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?” said Sir James.  “He has one foot in the grave.”

“He means to draw it out again, I suppose.”

“Brooke ought not to allow it:  he should insist on its being put off till she is of age.  She would think better of it then.  What is a guardian for?”

“As if you could ever squeeze a resolution out of Brooke!”

“Cadwallader might talk to him.”

“Not he!  Humphrey finds everybody charming.  I never can get him to abuse Casaubon.  He will even speak well of the bishop, though I tell him it is unnatural in a beneficed clergyman; what can one do with a husband who attends so little to the decencies?  I hide it as well as I can by abusing everybody myself.  Come, come, cheer up! you are well rid of Miss Brooke, a girl who would have been requiring you to see the stars by daylight.  Between ourselves, little Celia is worth two of her, and likely after all to be the better match.  For this marriage to Casaubon is as good as going to a nunnery.”

“Oh, on my own account—­it is for Miss Brooke’s sake I think her friends should try to use their influence.”

“Well, Humphrey doesn’t know yet.  But when I tell him, you may depend on it he will say, `Why not?  Casaubon is a good fellow—­and young—­young enough.’  These charitable people never know vinegar from wine till they have swallowed it and got the colic.  However, if I were a man I should prefer Celia, especially when Dorothea was gone.  The truth is, you have been courting one and have won the other.  I can see that she admires you almost as much as a man expects to be admired.  If it were any one but me who said so, you might think it exaggeration.  Good-by!”

Sir James handed Mrs. Cadwallader to the phaeton, and then jumped on his horse.  He was not going to renounce his ride because of his friend’s unpleasant news—­only to ride the faster in some other direction than that of Tipton Grange.