It could not be concealed from their friends; all Polterham smiled over it; yet the Mumbrays were regarded as a centre of moral and religious influence, a power against the encroaches of rationalism and its attendant depravity.  Neither of them could point to dignified ancestry; by steady persistence in cant and snobbishness —­the genuine expression of their natures—­they had pushed to a prominent place, and feared nothing so much as depreciation in the eyes of the townsfolk.  Raglan and Serena were causing them no little anxiety; both, though in different ways, might prove an occasion of scandal.  When Eustace Glazzard began to present himself at the house, Mr. Mumbray welcomed the significant calls.  From his point of view, Serena could not do better than marry a man of honourable name, who would remove her to London.  Out of mere contrariety, Mrs. Mumbray thereupon began to encourage the slow advances of her Rector, who thought of Serena’s fortune as a means to the wider activity, the greater distinction, for which he was hungering.

Glazzard’s self-contempt as he went home this evening was not unmingled with pleasanter thoughts.  For a man in his position, Serena Mumbray and her thousands did not represent a future of despair.  He had always aimed much higher, but defeat after defeat left him with shaken nerves, and gloomy dialogues with his brother had impressed upon him the necessity of guarding against darkest possibilities.  His state of mind was singularly morbid; he could not trust the fixity of his purposes for more than a day or two together; but just at present he thought without distaste of Serena herself, and was soothed by the contemplation of her (to him modest) fortune.  During the past month he had been several times to and from London; to-morrow he would return to town again, and view his progress from a distance.

On reaching his brother’s house, he found a letter waiting for him; it bore the Paris postmark.  The contents were brief.

“DEAR GLAZZARD.

“I announce to you the fact of our marriage.  The
L.s will hear of it simultaneously.  We are enjoying ourselves.

“Ever yours,

“D.Q.”

He went at once to the room where William was sitting, and said, in a quiet voice: 

“Quarrier has just got married—­in Paris.”

“Oh?  To whom?”

“An English girl who has been a governess at Stockholm.  I knew it was impending.”

“Has he made a fool of himself?” asked William, dispassionately.

“I think not; she seems to be well educated, and good-looking—­ according to his report.”

“Why didn’t you mention it before?”

“Oh, his wish.  We talked it all over when he was here.  He has an idea that a man about to be married always cuts a ridiculous figure.”

The elder man looked puzzled.

“No mysteries—­eh?”

“None whatever, I believe.  A decent girl without fortune, that’s all.  I suppose we shall see them before long.”