"There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as any girl I know."
"Psha! Charlie Fairstairs, indeed!" The very idea of having such a bride palmed off upon him did something to restore him to his manly courage.
"Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own, and who is as accomplished as she is good-looking."
"She's nothing to me, Mrs. Greenow."
"That's because you never asked her to be anything. If I get her to come back to Yarmouth next summer, will you think about it? You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over. It would be so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?" And again she put her hand upon his arm.
"Mrs. Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."
"And that's my niece."
"And that's yourself. I'm a broken-hearted man,—I am, indeed. I didn't ever think I should feel so much about a thing of the kind—I didn't, really. I hardly know what to do with myself; but I suppose I'd better go back to Oileymead." He had become so painfully unconscious of his new coat and his knickerbockers that it was impossible not to pity him. "I shall always hate the place now," he said,—"always."
"That will pass away. You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'd take Kate for your queen."
"And what'll you do, Mrs. Greenow?"