"Then I may tell Arthur that you will help him?" said Mrs. Agar, with a sudden access of practical energy.
"You may tell him that he has my good wishes, and that I will point out to Dora the advantages of--acceding to his desire. There are, of course, advantages on both sides, we know that."
As usual, Mrs. Agar overdid things. The airiness of her indifference might have deceived a child of eight, provided that its intellect was not _de première force._
"Ye-es," she murmured, "I suppose Dora would bring her little--eh--subscription towards the household expenses. Sister Cecilia gave me to understand that there was a little something coming to her under her mother's marriage settlement."
Mrs. Agar was not clever enough to see that she had made a mistake. The mention of Sister Cecilia's name acted on the Rector like a mental douche. He was just beginning to give way to expansiveness--probably under the suave influence of the brown sherry--and the name of Sister Cecilia pulled him together with a jerk. The jerk extended to his features; but Mrs. Agar was one of those cunning women whom no man need fear. She was so cunning that she deceived herself into seeing that which she wished to see, and nothing else.
"All that," said the Rector gravely, "can be discussed when Arthur has persuaded Dora to say Yes."
He was in the position of an unfortunate person who, having come into controversy with the police, is warned that every word he says may be used in evidence against him. He had been reminded that every detail of the present conversation would be repeated to Sister Cecilia, with embellishments or subtractions as might please the narrator's fancy or suit her purpose.
"A dangerous woman" he called Sister Cecilia in his most gloomy voice, and a parson must perforce fear dangerous women. That is one of the trials of the ministry.
"Of course," she said--she had a habit of beginning her remarks with these two words--"of course, we need not think of such questions yet. I am sure all _I_ want is the happiness of the dear children."
"Umph!" ejaculated Mr. Glynde, who was not always a model of politeness.
"That, I am sure," continued Mrs. Agar, with a dabbing pocket-handkerchief, "is the dearest wish of us all."