But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the garden, and the greeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke from the necessity of answering immediately. He got up hastily, and saying, “By the way, I must speak to Wright about the horses,” shuffled quickly out of the room.
“My dear child, what is this?—this about your sister’s engagement?” said Mrs. Cadwallader.
“She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon,” said Celia, resorting, as usual, to the simplest statement of fact, and enjoying this opportunity of speaking to the Rector’s wife alone.
“This is frightful. How long has it been going on?”
“I only knew of it yesterday. They are to be married in six weeks.”
“Well, my dear, I wish you joy of your brother-in-law.”
“I am so sorry for Dorothea.”
“Sorry! It is her doing, I suppose.”
“Yes; she says Mr. Casaubon has a great soul.”
“With all my heart.”
“Oh, Mrs. Cadwallader, I don’t think it can be nice to marry a man with a great soul.”
“Well, my dear, take warning. You know the look of one now; when the next comes and wants to marry you, don’t you accept him.”
“I’m sure I never should.”
“No; one such in a family is enough. So your sister never cared about Sir James Chettam? What would you have said to him for a brother-in-law?”