"If you can say such things as that, surely you can tell me why you're going?"
"I meddled—I—but leave the subject. 'Tis all dust and ashes afore what's stirring in my head now—now I know why I meddled. You'd like me to bide at Falcon Farm seemingly?"
"I should then. You've got nice ways, and—and you've always been amazing pitiful to me."
"Where would your father be if you left him?"
"I'll never leave him. He knows that."
"How old might you be?"
"Thirty-five—thirty-six come October."
"Some say port-wine marks are handed down, and again some say they are not. And if you was to hand it down, you'd hand down what's better too, I shouldn't wonder."
She did not answer, but gasped and stared in front of her.
"Look here," he said. "Now I see so plain why for I done this, why the mischief shouldn't you? 'Twas done because I've risen up into loving you, Susan! I want you—I want to marry you—I'll take my dying oath I do. It have just come over me like a flap of lightning. Oh, hell!"