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"
What
do
you
mean
,
Mrs
.
Cadwallader
?
"
said
Sir
James
.
His
fear
lest
Miss
Brooke
should
have
run
away
to
join
the
Moravian
Brethren
,
or
some
preposterous
sect
unknown
to
good
society
,
was
a
little
allayed
by
the
knowledge
that
Mrs
.
Cadwallader
always
made
the
worst
of
things
.
"
What
has
happened
to
Miss
Brooke
?
Pray
speak
out
.
"
"
Very
well
.
She
is
engaged
to
be
married
.
"
Mrs
.
Cadwallader
paused
a
few
moments
,
observing
the
deeply
hurt
expression
in
her
friend
’
s
face
,
which
he
was
trying
to
conceal
by
a
nervous
smile
,
while
he
whipped
his
boot
;
but
she
soon
added
,
"
Engaged
to
Casaubon
.
"
Sir
James
let
his
whip
fall
and
stooped
to
pick
it
up
.
Perhaps
his
face
had
never
before
gathered
so
much
concentrated
disgust
as
when
he
turned
to
Mrs
.
Cadwallader
and
repeated
,
"
Casaubon
?
"
"
Even
so
.
You
know
my
errand
now
.
"
"
Good
God
!
It
is
horrible
!
He
is
no
better
than
a
mummy
!
"
(
The
point
of
view
has
to
be
allowed
for
,
as
that
of
a
blooming
and
disappointed
rival
.
)
"
She
says
,
he
is
a
great
soul
.
—
A
great
bladder
for
dried
peas
to
rattle
in
!
"
said
Mrs
.
Cadwallader
.
"
What
business
has
an
old
bachelor
like
that
to
marry
?
"
said
Sir
James
.
"
He
has
one
foot
in
the
grave
.
"
"
He
means
to
draw
it
out
again
,
I
suppose
.
"
"
Brooke
ought
not
to
allow
it
:
he
should
insist
on
its
being
put
off
till
she
is
of
age
.
She
would
think
better
of
it
then
.
What
is
a
guardian
for
?
"
