"Thirty-six," said Lady Cumnor, sharply.
"So it is; you're always right, my dear. Preston's a clever, sharp
fellow."
"I don't like him," said my lady.
"He takes looking after; but he's a sharp fellow. He's such a
good-looking man, too, I wonder you don't like him."
"I never think whether a land-agent is handsome or not. They don't
belong to the class of people whose appearance I notice."
"To be sure not. But he is a handsome fellow; and what should make
you like him is the interest he takes in Clare and her prospects. He
is constantly suggesting something that can be done to her house, and
I know he sends her fruit, and flowers, and game just as regularly as
we should ourselves if we lived at Ashcombe."
"How old is he?" said Lady Cumnor, with a faint suspicion of motives
in her mind.
"About twenty-seven, I think. Ah! I see what is in your ladyship's
head. No! no! he's too young for that. You must look out for some
middle-aged man, if you want to get poor Clare married; Preston won't
do."
"I'm not a match-maker, as you might know. I never did it for my own
daughters. I'm not likely to do it for Clare," said she, leaning back
languidly.
"Well! you might do a worse thing. I'm beginning to think she'll
never get on as a schoolmistress, though why she shouldn't, I'm sure
I don't know; for she's an uncommonly pretty woman for her age, and
her having lived in our family, and your having had her so often with
you, ought to go a good way. I say, my lady, what do you think of
Gibson? He would be just the right age--widower--lives near the
Towers?"
"I told you just now I was no match-maker, my lord. I suppose we had
better go by the old road--the people at those inns know us?"
And so they passed on to speaking about other things than Mrs.
Kirkpatrick and her prospects, scholastic or matrimonial.