alone together for that space, you could refrain from breaking each other’s heads over some knotty point in theology?’
‘I think we could, Mr Bristley,’ Rose said.
There is no need to inflict upon the reader the commonplaces of a young couple who have just discovered that they are made for each other; such interviews generally are much in the same strain and have much the same ending. Lesbia and Letitia, meanwhile, had begun their têfe-à-tête.
‘Changed in the twinkling of a bedpost, isn’t she?’ said Letitia. ‘Ah, these pious girls, when they do lay hold of their man, they grip like a grizzly b’ar, no getting out of the clutch; but I guess Lockstable will find his rose a sweet one. I like her, spite of her piety; she'll get over that when she begins married life.’
‘My uncle would say, Letitia, that it is not desirable to get over piety. He would rather see it directed into its proper channel—woman-worship.’
‘No doubt; but how long must we wait for that?’
‘Not so long as many people suppose,’ replied Lesbia. ‘The pace is increasing, and if it increase up to a smash, all the better for the cause. But to come down from great matters to the small one we’ve been handling to-day, won’t you join me in my reformed horseback initiative? You're a good rider, I suppose?’
‘Yes, yes, as ladies go. I'll back you up by all means, and we'll go together. Blest pair of syrens, eh?’
We will suppose the curtain to drop upon the remainder of this interview and to rise again an hour afterwards upon the drawing-room, where enter our blest pair of syrens, followed by the vicar, to find Miss Dimpleton and Mr Lockstable sitting hand-in-hand upon the sofa in the bay-window, both looking radiant.
‘I publish the banns of marriage,’ gave out Mr Bristley
