The governess's father was a man
of good family--pretty nigh as good as Gatliffe's own. He had
been in the army; had sold out; set up as a
wine-merchant--failed--died; ditto his wife, as to the dying part
of it. No relation, in fact, left for the squire to make
inquiries about but the father's sister--who had behaved, as old
Gatliffe said, like a thorough-bred gentlewoman in shutting the
door against Mr. Frank in the first instance. So, to cut the
matter short, things were at last made up pleasant enough. The
time was fixed for the wedding, and an announcement about
it--Marriage in High Life and all that--put into the county
paper. There was a regular biography, besides, of the governess's
father, so as to stop people from talking--a great flourish about
his pedigree, and a long account of his services in the army; but
not a word, mind ye, of his having turned wine-merchant
afterward. Oh, no--not a word about that!
I knew it, though, for Mr. Frank told me. He hadn't a bit of
pride about him. He introduced me to his future wife one day when
I met him out walking, and asked me if I did not think he was a
lucky fellow. I don't mind admitting that I did, and that I told
him so. Ah! but she was one of my sort, was that governess.
Stood, to the best of my recollection, five foot four. Good
lissom figure, that looked as if it had never been boxed up in a
pair of stays.
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