‘A sort of a tutor,’ said Nidderdale.

‘A parson, I suppose,’ said Dolly.

‘Well;—­he is a clergyman.  Who told you?’

’It’s only my inventive genius.  Well;—­yes; I should say that would be nice,—­travelling about Europe with a clergyman.  I shouldn’t get enough advantage out of it to make it pay, but I fancy it will just suit you.’

‘It’s an expensive sort of thing;—­isn’t it?’ asked Nidderdale.

’Well;—­it does cost something.  But I’ve got so sick of this kind of life;—­and then that railway Board coming to an end, and the club smashing up, and—­’

‘Marie Melmotte marrying Fisker,’ suggested...