Lady Lufton had but two children. The eldest, a daughter, had been
married some four or five years to Sir George Meredith, and this
Miss Monsell was a dear friend of hers. And now looms before me the
novelist's great difficulty. Miss Monsell--or rather, Mrs Mark
Robarts--must be described. As Miss Monsell, our tale will have to
take no prolonged note of her. And yet we will call her Fanny
Monsell, when we declare that she was one of the most pleasant
companions that could be brought near to a man, as the future
partner of his home, and owner of his heart. And if high
principles without asperity, female gentleness without weakness, a
love of laughter without malice, and a true loving heart, can
qualify a woman to be a parson's wife, then Fanny Monsell qualified
to fill that station. In person she was somewhat larger than
common. Her face would have been beautiful but that her mouth was
large. Her hair, which was copious, was of a bright brown; her
eyes also were brown, and, being so, were the distinctive feature
of her face, for brown eyes are not common. They were liquid,
large, and full either of tenderness or of mirth. Mark Robarts
still had his accustomed luck, when such a girl as this was brought
to Framley for his wooing. And he did woo her--and won her. For
Mark himself was a handsome fellow. At this time the vicar was about
twenty-five years of age, and the future Mrs Robarts was two or
three years younger. Nor did she come quite empty-handed to the
vicarage. It cannot be said that Fanny Monsell was an heiress, but
she had been left with a provision of some few thousand pounds.
This was so settled, that the interest of his wife's money paid the
heavy insurance on his life which young Robarts effected, and there
was left to him, over and above, sufficient to furnish his parsonage
in the very best style of clerical comfort, and to start him on the
road of life rejoicing.