"Pardon me," I said. "You think so rapidly, and my hands are cold. Who is Mr. Grimsdick?"
"The one I was telling you about," explained James. "He's our grocer."
"But you never were telling me about him," I protested. "He is quite a new character."
"Nonsense," cried James. "Why, the very first thing I said to you was that Mr. Grimsdick had proposed to me. At least, I take it as a proposal. He held my hand and——"
"Excuse me," I ventured to observe, "but do you think it quite correct in the daughter of a respected family physician that she should go about the country holding hands with grocers? Now had it been——"
James cut short my speech with characteristic impatience. "Mr. Grimsdick," she said, "has been holding my hand for years."
"Does he sell lard?" I inquired.
"He is a very religious man, and when his wife died, when I was about seven, he used to give me raisins and pat my head to comfort himself. And this afternoon, when he gave me my change, he held my hand and he said, 'R! Miss, I expect we shall soon see you round yere shopping on your own account. How time do fly, to be shaw. You'll be having your hair up soon. And yet it don't seem no time since the days when you used to sit on the cheese barrels and swing your little legs and heat my raisins. 'E'll be a lucky young fellar whoever 'e is. They'll 'ave to 'urry up, miss, some of 'em—what? I on'y wish I was a young man—I'd give some of 'em a lead.'
"So I said, 'Never mind, Mr. Grimsdick. I shall always come to you for my soap and tea.'
"And he laughed. And he said, 'R! We shan't see much of you round 'ere, I reckon, miss. You'll be marrying into the aristocracy and goin' to live at Herne Bay or Clacton.'