“Leave her—you never know what the young can do, and what they can’t do. I’m here about you, not her. We’ve not known each other above six months, but knowledge of our fellow creatures ain’t a matter of time. ’Tis understanding of character and like to like and so on. Another, finding you in trouble to-day, would hold off no doubt. But, just because you are in trouble, I’m going to hold on and say what I came to say. I respect and admire you very much out of the common, Mrs. Trivett, and I feel that it’s a crying shame to see you in this rabbit hutch, living the life of a maid-of-all-work for other people, when you ought to be the mistress of your own home. I say you ought to have a man to work for you, and look after you, and not let you toil and wear your fingers to the bone, either here, over your brother’s children, or in the rag shop. Your sense of justice must cry out against it, and so it ought and I feel it very much to heart. You drew me, from the first minutes I set eyes on you, for I saw all that you were and found, as I knew you better, you were even better than I thought. And, in a word, if you’ll throw over these Dolbears and come to me, I can promise a very faithful and friendly husband and one who will make it his first business and pleasure in life to give you a good time. ’Tis thought silly of a man over fifty-two to speak of love; but rest assured that such a man knows a darned sight more about it than green youth. You’ve had a good husband and I’ve had a good wife, according to her lights; then what’s to prevent us joining forces if you think half so well of me as I do of you?”
Lydia was inconsequent.
“If anybody had told me when I opened my eyes this morning what the day was going to bring forth,” she said, “God’s my judge I shouldn’t have had the heart, or courage to put on my clothes.”
“Yes, you would,” he answered. “You’re the sort to meet all that comes steadfast and patient, with the pluck of an army. You’d have rose up as usual. And what about it?”
“Nothing on earth is farther from my thoughts at present than a second,” she answered. “I regard myself as an old woman.”
“Only because you live among all these messy children. You’re not old: you’re in your prime, and if you was to rest your flesh a bit, instead of wearing it out morning, noon and night, you’d very soon be surprised to find what a comely creature you’d find yourself.”
“That’s all past. Duty is duty and God’s found the work to do.”
“God’s also found me,” answered Mr. Knox, “and you must weigh me along with everything else. And if, as I see in your face, your inclination is to say ‘no,’ then I beg you’ll not say it—at any rate not this evening. You’re far too nice to decide the future career of a fellow creature, let alone your own, without turning it over fairly in your mind. I didn’t ask you to say ‘yes,’ all of a minute, because this is sprung upon you—you expected no such thing; but though I didn’t count on ‘yes,’ Lydia, I’m equally determined not to hear ‘no.’ So you can think all round it, and I wish you’d got more time to do so. However you’re a fair woman—fair and just to all but yourself—so I very well leave it at that for the present.”
“To think a good-looking, clever man like you should have looked at a little every-day woman like me!” she said.
“You won’t be every day no more if you’re Mrs. Knox,” he promised. “Far from it. You should go in a carriage and pair if it could be done, and though I can’t promise that, I can promise a nice house, and a bit of garden, and a professed cook to look after the kitchen and do your bidding. Think upon it.”