"Not that I blame you for being so plain-spoken. 'Tis often the best way of all, an' saves a deal of precious time. And time's money. You only want a little more experience of the ways of people, to shine like a star among common women, who sail with the wind and always say what they think you'll best like to hear. But that's nought. The thing I want to say is that I love you, Sarah Jane, and there's nothing in life I'd like better than to make a beautiful home for you, with every comfort that my purse can afford in it. And a horse you certainly shall have; an' I'll teach you how to ride him. You're a thought too large for a pony, but a good upstanding cob—and a pleasant sight 'twould be."
"Nobody could say fairer, I'm sure."
"Then will you have me? I'm not good enough, or anywheres near it. Still, as men go, in these parts, you might do worse—eh?"
"A lot worse. What does your mother think about it?"
"She would sooner I married you than anybody—'if I must marry at all.' That was her view."
"Why marry at all, Jarratt Weekes? Ban't you very comfortable as you are?"
"Not a very loverly question," he said, somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid you don't care much about me, Sarah Jane."
"I don't like your eyes," she answered. "I like the rest of you very well. And, after all's said, you can't help 'em."
"There 'tis!" he exclaimed, half in admiration, half in annoyance. "What girl on God's earth but you would say a thing like that to a man that's offering marriage to her? To quarrel with my eyes be a foolish trick all the same. You might so well blame my hair, or my ears, or my hands."
"Your hand is a fine, strong-shaped sort of hand."