Colonel and Mrs. Wendover received the Curate's declaration with the
coolness which is so aggravating in parents, who would hardly be elated
if the sons of God came down once more to propose for the daughters of
men.

They both considered that Bessie was ridiculously young--much too young
to receive an offer of marriage. They consented, ultimately, to an
engagement; but Bessie was not to be married till after her twenty-first
birthday. This meant two years from next September, and Mr. Jardine
pleaded hard for a milder sentence. Surely one year would be long enough
to wait, when Bessie and he were so sure of their own minds.

'Bessie is too young to be sure of anything,' said the Colonel; 'and two
years will only give you time to find a living and a nice cosy vicarage,
or rectory, as the case way be.'

Mr. Jardine did not venture to remind Colonel Wendover that for him the
cosiness of vicarage or rectory was a mere detail as compared with a
worthy field for his labours. He meant to spend his life where it would
be of most use to his fellow-creatures; even although the call of duty
should come to him from the smokiest of manufacturing towns, or in the
flat, dull fields of Lincolnshire, among pitmen and stockingers. He was
not the kind of man to consider the snug rectory houses or fat glebes,
but rather the kind of man to take upon himself some long-neglected
parish, and ruin himself in building church and schools.

Fortunately for Bessie's hopes, however, Colonel Wendover did not know
this.