“I am indeed flattered,” he said.  “It is more than she could expect—­not but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever,” he added hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter’s market value.

“Good-looking—­clever; she is an angel,” murmured Owen.

“Oh, yes, of course she is,” said her father, “that is, if a woman—­yes, of course—­and what is more, I think she’s very fond of you.  I think she is pining for you.  I’ve though so for a long time.”

“Is she?” said Owen anxiously.  “Then all I have to say is that she takes a very curious way of showing it.  She won’t say a word to me; she puts me off on every occasion.  But it will be all right now—­all right now.”

“Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives.  We know about all that,” said Mr. Granger sententiously.

His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.

“Mr. Granger,” he said, seizing his hand, “I want to make Beatrice my wife—­I do indeed.”

“Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies.”

“If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters and that sort of thing, you know.  She shall have as fine a settlement as any woman in Wales.  I know that goes a long way with a father, and I shall raise no difficulties.”

“Very right and proper, I am sure,” said Mr. Granger, adopting a loftier tone as he discovered the advantages of his position.  “But of course on such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer.  I daresay that Mr. Bingham would advise me,” he added, “as a friend of the family, you know.  He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn’t charge anything.”

“Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham,” answered Owen anxiously.  “I will do anything you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I’ll pay the bill myself.  But never mind about that now.  Let us settle it with Beatrice first.  Come along at once.”

“Eh, but hadn’t you better arrange that part of the business privately?”

“No, no.  She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone.  You had better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes.  I won’t speak to her again alone.  I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God directed me to do, and then it will be all right—­I know it will.”

Mr. Granger stared at him.  He was a clergyman of a very practical sort, and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies’s matrimonial intentions.

“Ah, well,” he said, “I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven; yes, of course.  Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay that we shall find Beatrice in.”

So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to himself.