LITMIR.BIZ

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you sit down, Mr Cheesacre?”

      “Well,—thank you,—I will sit down for a few minutes if you’ll let me, Mrs Greenow. Mrs Greenow, I’m in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage.”

      “Dear me! what has happened to you? You’re going out shooting, presently; are you not?” and Mrs Greenow looked down at his garments.

      “No, Mrs Greenow, I’m not going out shooting. I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I came along. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn’t take them off again. What does it matter what a man wears?”

      “Not in the least, so long as he is decent.”

      “I’m sure I’m always that, Mrs Greenow.”

      “Oh, dear, yes. More than that, I should say. I consider you to be rather gay in your attire.”

      “I don’t pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs Greenow. I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing. There are people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck. It is the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it.” Then he remembered that he was again treading on forbidden ground, and stopped himself. “But it don’t matter what a man wears if his heart isn’t easy within him.”

      “I don’t know why you should speak in that way, Mr Cheesacre; but it’s what I have felt every hour since—since Greenow left me.”

      Mr Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin. This allusion to the departed one did not at all assist him. He had so often told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog was better than a dead lion; and had found so little efficacy in the proverbs, that he did not care to revert to them. He was aware that some more decided method of proceeding was now required. Little hints at lovemaking had been all very well in the earlier days of their acquaintance; but there must be something more than little hints before he could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion. The widow herself had told him that he ought to talk about love; and he had taken two glasses of cherry-brandy, hoping that they might enable him to do so. He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, and new knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the occasion. He was resolved to call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of his passion; but how was he to begin? There was the difficulty. He was now seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute or two, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after her last slight ebullition of grief.

      “Mrs Greenow,” he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; “dearest Mrs Greenow; darling Mrs Greenow, will you be my wife? There! I have said it at last, and I mean it. Everything that I’ve got shall be yours. Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart. As for love;—oh, Arabella, if you only knew me! I don’t think there’s a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am. Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I’ve been in love to that extent that I’ve not known what I’ve been about. If you’ll ask them at home, they’ll tell you that I’ve not been able to look after anything about the place,—not as it should be done. I haven’t really. I don’t suppose I’ve opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July.”

      “And has that been my fault, Mr Cheesacre?”

      “Upon my word it has. I can’t move about anywhere without thinking about you. My mind’s made up; I won’t stay at Oileymead unless you will come and be its mistress.”

      “Not stay at Oileymead?”

      “No, indeed. I’ll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What’s the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart? I couldn’t do it, Mrs Greenow; I couldn’t, indeed. Of course I’ve got everything there that money can buy,—but it’s all of no use to a man that’s in love. Do you know, I’ve come quite to despise money and stock, and all that sort of thing. I haven’t had my banker’s book home these last three months. Only think of that now.”

      “But how can I help you, Mr Cheesacre?”

      “Just say one word, and the thing’ll be done. Say you’ll be my wife? I’ll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As for your fortune, I don’t care that for it! I’m not like somebody else; it’s yourself I want. You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life.”

      “No, Mr Cheesacre; it cannot be.”

      “And why not? Look here, Arabella!” At these words he rose from his chair, and coming immediately before her, went down on both knees so close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping from him. There could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherry-brandy. There he was, well down on his knees; but he had not got down so low without some little cracking and straining on the part of the gaiters with which his legs were encompassed. He, in his passion, had probably omitted to notice this; but Mrs Greenow, who was more cool in her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.

      “Mr Cheesacre, don’t make a fool of yourself. Get up,” said she.

      “Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!”

      “Then you’ll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient. I won’t have you take hold of my hand, Mr Cheesacre. I tell you to have done.” Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made no attempt to rise.

      “I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life,” said she. “If you don’t get up, I’ll push you over. There; don’t you hear? There’s somebody coming.”

      But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the lady’s, did not hear. “I’ll never get up,” said he, “till you have bid me hope.”

      “Bid you play the fiddle. Get away from my knees, at any rate. There;—he’ll be in the room now before—”

      Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position. The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered. “I beg ten thousand pardons,” said he, “but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in. May I venture to congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?”

      In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, and with evident difficulty. “I’ll trouble you to leave the room, Captain Bellfield,” said he. “I’m particularly engaged with Mrs Greenow, as any gentleman might have seen.”

      “There wasn’t the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow,” said the Captain. “Shall I wish you joy?”

      “I’ll trouble you to leave the room, sir,” said Cheesacre, walking up to him.

      “Certainly, if Mrs Greenow will desire me to do so,” said the Captain.

      Then Mrs Greenow felt herself called upon to speak.

      “Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room a place for quarrelling. Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking. It was not with my consent that he was there.”

      “I can easily believe that, Mrs Greenow,” said the Captain.

      “Who cares what you believe, sir?” said Mr Cheesacre.

      “Gentlemen! gentlemen! this is really unkind. Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw.”

      “By all means,” said Mr Cheesacre.

      “As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred—”

      “Of course,” said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go. “I’ll take another opportunity of paying my respects to you. Perhaps I might be allowed to come this evening?”

      To

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