“You can write home at once and tell your mother.  You can tell her all that I say, and I am sure she will agree with me.  If you wish it, I will write a line to Mrs. Burton myself.”  Florence said that she would wish it.  “And we can begin, you know, to get your things ready here.  People don’t take so long about all that now-a-days as they used to do.”  When Mrs. Clavering had turned against her, Florence knew that she had no hope, and surrendered, subject to the approval of the higher authorities at Stratton.  The higher authorities at Stratton approved also, of course, and Florence found herself fixed to a day with a suddenness that bewildered her.  Immediately—­almost as soon as the consent had been extorted from her—­she began to be surrounded with incipient preparation for the event, as to which, about three weeks since, she had made up her mind it would never come to pass.

On the second day of her arrival, in the privacy of her bed-room, Fanny communicated to her the decision of her family in regard to Mr. Saul.  But she told the story at first as though this decision referred to the living only—­as though the rectory were to be conferred on Mr. Saul without any burden attached to it.  “He has been here so long, dear,” said Fanny, “and understands the people so well.”

“I am so delighted,” said Florence.

“I am sure it is the best thing papa could do—­that is, if he quite makes up his mind to give up the parish himself.”

This troubled Florence, who did not know that a baronet could hold a living.

“I thought he must give up being a clergyman now that Sir Hugh is dead?”

“Oh dear, no.”  And then Fanny, who was great on ecclesiastical subjects, explained it all.  “Even though he were to be a peer, he could hold a living if he pleased.  A great many baronets are clergymen, and some of them do hold preferments.  As to papa, the doubt has been with him whether he would wish to give up the work.  But he will preach sometimes, you know, though of course he will not be able to do that unless Mr. Saul lets him.  No one but the rector has a right to his own pulpit except the bishop, and he can preach three times a year if he likes it.”

“And suppose the bishop wanted to preach four times?”

“He couldn’t do it—­at least I believe not.  But, you see, he never wants to preach at all—­not in such a place as this—­so that does not signify.”

“And will Mr. Saul come and live here, in this house?”

“Some day I suppose he will,” said Fanny, blushing.

“And you, dear?”

“I don’t know how that may be.”

“Come, Fanny.”

“Indeed I don’t, Florence, or I would tell you.  Of course Mr. Saul has asked me.  I never had any secret with you about that—­have I?”

“No; you were very good.”

“Then he asked me again—­twice again.  And then there came—­oh, such a quarrel between him and papa.  It was so terrible.  Do you know, I believe they wouldn’t speak in the vestry!  Not but what each of them has the highest possible opinion of the other.  But of course Mr. Saul couldn’t marry on a curacy.  When I think of it, it really seems that he must have been mad.”