‘Oh, dear no,’ said Miss Stanbury.  ‘There’s time enough for him yet.’

‘He’ll find plenty here to set their caps at him,’ said Mrs MacHugh.

‘He’s a little old for my girls,’ said Mrs Powel, laughing.  Mrs Powel was the happy mother of four daughters, of whom the eldest was only twelve.

‘There are others who are more forward,’ said Mrs MacHugh.  ’What a chance it would be for dear Arabella French!’

‘Heaven forbid!’ said Miss Stanbury.

’And then poor Mr Gibson wouldn’t any longer be like the donkey between two bundles of hay,’ said Mrs Powel.  Dorothy was quite determined that she would never marry a man who was like a donkey between two bundles of hay.

When the gentlemen came up into the drawing-room Dorothy was seated behind the urn and tea-things at a large table, in such a position as to be approached only at one side.  There was one chair at her left hand, but at her right hand there was no room for a seat, only room for some civil gentleman to take away full cups and bring them back empty.  Dorothy was not sufficiently ready-witted to see the danger of this position till Mr Gibson had seated himself in the chair.  Then it did seem cruel to her that she should be thus besieged for the rest of the evening as she had been also at dinner.  While the tea was being consumed Mr Gibson assisted at the service, asking ladies whether they would have cake or bread and butter; but when all that was over Dorothy was still in her prison, and Mr Gibson was still the jailer at the gate.  She soon perceived that everybody else was chatting and laughing, and that Brooke Burgess was the centre of a little circle which had formed itself quite at a distance from her seat.  Once, twice, thrice she meditated an escape, but she had not the courage to make the attempt.  She did not know how to manage it.  She was conscious that her aunt’s eye was upon her, and that her aunt would expect her to listen to Mr Gibson.  At last she gave up all hope of moving, and was anxious simply that Mr Gibson should confine himself to the dirt of the paths and the noble prospect from Haldon Hill.

‘I think we shall have more rain before we have done with it,’ he said.  Twice before during the evening he had been very eloquent about the rain.

‘I dare say we shall,’ said Dorothy.  And then there came the sound of loud laughter from Sir Peter, and Dorothy could see that he was poking Brooke Burgess in the ribs.  There had never been anything so gay before since she had been in Exeter, and now she was hemmed up in that corner, away from it all, by Mr Gibson!

‘This Mr Burgess seems to be different from the other Burgesses,’ said Mr Gibson.

‘I think he must be very clever,’ said Dorothy.

‘Well yes; in a sort of a way.  What people call a Merry Andrew.’

‘I like people who make me laugh and laugh themselves,’ said Dorothy.

’I quite agree with you that laughter is a very good thing in its place.  I am not at all one of those who would make the world altogether grave.  There are serious things, and there must be serious moments.’