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it’s no good going before.”
“And then you’ll marry?” asked Lettie of George.
“Before then — oh, before then,” he said.
“Why — how is it you are suddenly in such a hurry? — When will it be?”
“When are you marrying?” he asked in reply.
“I don’t know,” she said, coming to a full stop.
“Then I don’t know,” he said, taking a large wedge of cheese and biting a piece from it.
“It was fixed for June,” she said, recovering herself at his suggestion of hope.
“July!” said Emily.
“Father!” said he, holding the piece of cheese up before him as he spoke — he was evidently nervous: “Would you advise me to marry Meg?”
His father started, and said:
“Why, was you thinking of doing?”
“Yes — all things considered.”
“Well — if she suits you —”
“We’re cousins —”
“If you want her, I suppose you won’t let that hinder you. She’ll have a nice bit of money, and if you like her —”
“I like her all right — I shan’t go out to Canada with her though. I shall stay at the Ram — for the sake of the life.”
“It’s a poor life, that!” said the father, ruminating.
George laughed. “A bit mucky!” he said —“But it’ll do. It would need Cyril or Lettie to keep me alive in Canada.”
It was a bold stroke — everybody was embarrassed.
“Well,” said the father, “I suppose we can’t have everything we want — we generally have to put up with the next best thing — don’t we, Lettie?”— he laughed. Lettie flushed furiously.
“I don’t know,” she said. “You can generally get what you want if you want it badly enough. Of course — if you don’t mind —”
She rose and went across to Sam.
He was playing with the kittens. One was patting and cuffing his bare toe, which had poked through his stocking. He pushed and teased the little scamp with his toe till it rushed at him, clinging, tickling, biting till he gave little bubbles of laughter, quite forgetful of us. Then the kitten was tired, and ran off. Lettie shook her skirts, and directly the two playful mites rushed upon it, darting round her, rolling head over heels, and swinging from the soft cloth. Suddenly becoming aware that they felt tired, the young things trotted away and cuddled together by the fender, where in an instant they were asleep. Almost as suddenly, Sam sank into drowsiness.
“He’d better go to bed,” said the father.
“Put him in my bed,” said George. “David would wonder what had happened.”
“Will you go to bed, Sam?” asked Emily, holding out her arms to him, and immediately startling him by the terrible gentleness of her persuasion. He retreated behind Lettie.
“Come along,” said the latter, and she quickly took him and undressed him. Then she picked him up, and his bare legs hung down in front of her. His head drooped drowsily on to her shoulder, against her neck.
She put down her face to touch the loose riot of his ruddy hair. She stood so, quiet, still and wistful, for a few moments; perhaps she was vaguely aware that the attitude was beautiful for her, and irresistibly appealing to George, who loved, above all in her, her delicate dignity of tenderness. Emily waited with the lighted candle for her some moments.
When she came down there was a softness about her. “Now,” said I to myself, “if George asks her again he is wise.”
“He is asleep,” she said quietly.
“I’m thinking we might as well let him stop while we’re here, should we, George?” said the father.
“Eh?”
“We’ll keep him here while we are here —”
“Oh — the lad! I should. Yes — he’d be better here than up yonder.”
“Ah, yes — ever so much. It is good of you,” said Lettie. “Oh, he’ll make no difference,” said the father.
“Not a bit,” added George.
“What about his mother?” asked Lettie.
“I’ll call and tell her in the morning,” said George. “Yes,” she said, “call and tell her.”
Then she put on her things to go. He also put on his cap. “Are you coming a little way, Emily?” I asked.
She ran, laughing, with bright eyes as we went out into the darkness.
We waited for them at the wood gate. We all lingered, not knowing what to say. Lettie said finally:
“Well — it’s no good — the grass is wet — Good night — Good night, Emily.”
“Good night,” he said, with regret and hesitation, and a trifle of impatience in his voice and his manner. He lingered still a moments; she hesitated — then she struck off sharply.
“He has not asked her, the idiot!” I said to myself.
“Really,” she said bitterly, when we were going up the garden path, “you think rather quiet folks have a lot in them, but it’s only stupidity — they are mostly fools.”
Chapter 5
An Arrow from the Impatient God
On an afternoon three or four days after the recovery of Sam. matters became complicated. George, as usual, discovered that he had been dawdling in the portals of his desires, when the doors came to with a bang. Then he hastened to knock.
“Tell her,” he said, “I will come up tomorrow after milking — tell her I’m coming to see her.”
On the evening of that morrow, the first person to put in an appearance was a garrulous spinster who had called ostensibly to enquire into the absence of the family from church: “I said to Elizabeth, ‘Now what a thing if anything happens to them just now, and the wedding is put off.’ I felt I must come and make myself sure — that nothing had happened. We all feel so interested in Lettie just now. I’m sure everybody is talking of her, she seems in the air. — I really think we shall have thunder: I hope we shan’t. — Yes, we are all so glad that Mr Tempest is content with a wife from at home — the others, his father and Mr Robert and the rest — they were none of them to be suited at home, though to be sure the wives they brought were nothing — indeed they were not — as many a one said — Mrs Robert was a paltry choice — neither in looks or manner had she anything to boast of — if her family was older than mine. Family wasn’t much to make up for what she lacked in other things, that I could easily have supplied her with; and, oh, dear, what an object she is now, with her wisp of hair and her spectacles! She for one hasn’t kept much of her youth. But when is the exact date, dear? — Some say this and some that, but as I always say, I never trust a ‘they say’. It is so nice that you have that cousin a canon to come down for the service, Mrs Beardsall, and Sir Walter Houghton for the groom’s man! What? — You don’t think so — oh, but I know, dear, I know; you do like to treasure up these secrets, don’t you; you are greedy for all the good things just now.”
She shook her head at Lettie, and the jet ornaments on her bonnet twittered like a thousand wagging little tongues. Then she sighed, and was about to recommence her song, when she happened to turn her head