"Poor, dear girl! it is a great trial for her. Do you wish me to give her any message, Major Grantly?"
The moment had now come in which he must say that which he had come to say. The little woman waited for an answer, and as he was there, within her power as it were, he must speak. I fear that what he said will not be approved by any strong-minded reader. I fear that our lover will henceforth be considered by such a one as being but a weak, wishy-washy man, who had hardly any mind of his own to speak of;—that he was a man of no account, as the poor people say. "Miss Prettyman, what message ought I to send to her?" he said.
"Nay, Major Grantly, how can I tell you that? How can I put words into your mouth?"
"It isn't the words," he said; "but the feelings."
"And how can I tell the feelings of your heart?"
"Oh, as for that, I know what my feelings are. I do love her with all my heart;—I do, indeed. A fortnight ago I was only thinking whether she would accept me when I asked her,—wondering whether I was too old for her, and whether she would mind having Edith to take care of."
"She is very fond of Edith,—very fond indeed."
"Is she?" said the major, more distracted than ever. Why should he not do the magnificent thing after all? "But it is a great charge for a young girl when she marries."
"It is a great charge;—a very great charge. It is for you to think whether you should entrust so great a charge to one so young."
"I have no fear about that at all."