Now it so happened that Francis was Mrs. Clarke's favourite: whether from having seen the least of him, or from the great difference between them—two common causes of liking—or because she felt some sort of vanity in her near relationship to so very fine a gentleman, are points too curious to be decided by any but a metaphysician. However, having his interest at heart, and some idea that his fortune must and ought to be made by marriage, she had sent the invitation and intelligence which led to Emily's meeting so interesting a companion in her morning's walk.
To be sure, the tête-à-tête to which Mrs. Clarke's good management had that evening consigned them had been rather a silent one; still, as it never entered the elder lady's head that such a nice young man could fail to be a very Cæsar of the affections—to come, see, and conquer—she only remarked, as they walked home, "a poor stupid thing—but never mind, Frank, she'll make the better wife;" and forthwith she commenced enumerating a series of divers alterations and reformations (now-a-days, we believe, the one word is synonymous with the other), which were to take place when her brother was master of Arundel Hall.
