"Ban't seemly in a woman to set her mind 'pon a chap so outrageous. But let her bide. Now, when shall us be man an' wife? An' what fashion wall-hangings would 'e like to the cottage-parlour? For it must be done again, 'cause theer's beastly grease 'pon it, wheer my mother's head got against the wall on Sundays. She used to fall asleep regular in a auld armchair, then roll to the left out o' the chair till the wall stopped her head. Done it for years. An' her recipes I've kept, an' the wan for herby-pie you'd best larn by heart, for 'tis favourite food o' mine."
"I will, Greg. You know how I can cook."
"Wi' a tender-stomached man, same as me, you'll have to put your heart into the cooking."
"So I will then."
He squeezed her slowly until she gasped.
"You'm strong enough, I reckon, however," she said. "Your arm be like a bar of steel around me!"
"'Tis love as hardens the sinews. I've a gert gift for lovin', an' if a man couldn't love the likes o' you, he'd be a poor, slack-baked twoad, for sartain. I'm lucky to get 'e, an' I knaw it, an' us'll be a happy couple, I lay—me a-doin' man's work an' makin' gude money, an' you 'bout the house, so thrifty an' savin' that us shall graw rich 'fore we knaw it, an' p'raps come to keep a servant for you to order here an' theer. An' me wi' my awn hoss an' trap, so like as not, to drive to cattle-shows an' junketings, an' taake my plaace in the world."
"An' I'll sit beside 'e an' look down at the walkers."
"You'll be home-along wi' the childer more like. That's the mother's plaace. But us be lookin' a thought tu far forrard now. Wait till Bank Holiday anyway; then I'll meet 'e quiet by the river—down where Batworthy fishing right ends. 'Tis a private an' peaceful plaace; an' theer you must fix the day."
"So I will then, an' a proud woman I am, an' a true wife I'll make you; Lard's my judge."