hawk it about. And you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as your daughter, to one of our best men. Sir James would be cruelly annoyed: it will be too hard on him if you turn round now and make yourself a Whig sign-board."
Mr Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorothea's engagement had no sooner been decided, than he had thought of Mrs Cadwallader's prospective taunts. It might have been easy for ignorant observers to say, "Quarrel with Mrs Cadwallader;" but where is a country gentleman to go who quarrels with his oldest neighbours? Who could taste the fine flavour in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually, like wine without a seal? Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to a certain point.
"I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but I am sorry to say there is no prospect of his marrying my niece," said Mr Brooke, much relieved to see through the window that Celia was coming in.
"Why not?" said Mrs Cadwallader, with a sharp note of surprise. "It is hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it."
"My niece has chosen another suitor—has chosen him, you know. I have had nothing to do with it. I should have preferred Chettam;
