"And you dislike it?" asked Ralph.
"Indeed I don't then," said Polly.
And now in what way was he to do it? Would it be well to allude to her father's understanding with himself? In the ordinary way of love-making Ralph was quite as much at home as another. He had found no difficulty in saying a soft word to Clarissa Underwood, and in doing more than that. But with Polly the matter was different. There was an inappropriateness in his having to do the thing at all, which made it difficult to him,—unless he could preface what he did by an allusion to his agreement with her father. He could hardly ask Polly to be his wife without giving her some reason for the formation of so desperate a wish on his own part. "Polly," he said at last, "that was very awkward for us all,—that evening when Mr. Moggs was here."
"Indeed it was, Mr. Newton. Poor Mr. Moggs! He shouldn't have stayed;—but mother asked him."
"Has he been here since?"
"He was then, and he and I were walking together. There isn't a better fellow breathing than Ontario Moggs,—in his own way. But he's not company for you, Mr. Newton, of course."
Ralph quailed at this. To be told that his own boot-maker wasn't "company" for him,—and that by the young lady whom he intended to make his wife! "I don't think he is company for you either Polly," he said.
"Why not, Mr. Newton? He's as good as me. What's the difference between him and father?" He wondered whether, when she should be his own, he would be able to teach her to call Mr. Neefit her papa. "Mr. Newton, when you know me better, you'll know that I'm not one to give myself airs. I've known Mr. Moggs all my life, and he's equal to me, anyways,—only he's a deal better."
"I hope there's nothing more than friendship, Polly."
"What business have you to hope?"