“You! it was easy enough for a woman to love you.  But this is no question of beauty.  I don’t like Casaubon.”  This was Sir James’s strongest way of implying that he thought ill of a man’s character.

“Why? what do you know against him?” said the Rector laying down his reels, and putting his thumbs into his armholes with an air of attention.

Sir James paused.  He did not usually find it easy to give his reasons:  it seemed to him strange that people should not know them without being told, since he only felt what was reasonable.  At last he said—­

“Now, Cadwallader, has he got any heart?”

“Well, yes.  I don’t mean of the melting sort, but a sound kernel, that you may be sure of.  He is very good to his poor relations:  pensions several of the women, and is educating a young fellow at a good deal of expense.  Casaubon acts up to his sense of justice.  His mother’s sister made a bad match—­a Pole, I think—­lost herself—­at any rate was disowned by her family.  If it had not been for that, Casaubon would not have had so much money by half.  I believe he went himself to find out his cousins, and see what he could do for them.  Every man would not ring so well as that, if you tried his metal. you would, Chettam; but not every man.”

“I don’t know,” said Sir James, coloring.  “I am not so sure of myself.”  He paused a moment, and then added, “That was a right thing for Casaubon to do.  But a man may wish to do what is right, and yet be a sort of parchment code.  A woman may not be happy with him.  And I think when a girl is so young as Miss Brooke is, her friends ought to interfere a little to hinder her from doing anything foolish.  You laugh, because you fancy I have some feeling on my own account.  But upon my honor, it is not that.  I should feel just the same if I were Miss Brooke’s brother or uncle.”

“Well, but what should you do?”

“I should say that the marriage must not be decided on until she was of age.  And depend upon it, in that case, it would never come off.  I wish you saw it as I do—­I wish you would talk to Brooke about it.”

Sir James rose as he was finishing his sentence, for he saw Mrs. Cadwallader entering from the study.  She held by the hand her youngest girl, about five years old, who immediately ran to papa, and was made comfortable on his knee.

“I hear what you are talking about,” said the wife.  “But you will make no impression on Humphrey.  As long as the fish rise to his bait, everybody is what he ought to be.  Bless you, Casaubon has got a trout-stream, and does not care about fishing in it himself:  could there be a better fellow?”

“Well, there is something in that,” said the Rector, with his quiet, inward laugh.  “It is a very good quality in a man to have a trout-stream.”

“But seriously,” said Sir James, whose vexation had not yet spent itself, “don’t you think the Rector might do some good by speaking?”