"Take it then," he cried, "and keep it; an' give me yours. Let me run my life for you evermore; and for your good and for your betterment. I'm tired of running it for myself. I never knew how empty a man's life can be—not till I met you; and there's the cottage, crawled over with honeysuckle, and the swallows' nests under the eaves, and the lovely orchard and all! All waiting your good pleasure, Sarah Jane, the moment that old woman drops."
"I don't reckon I could marry you—such a lot goes to it. Still, I'll be fair to you and take a bit of time to think it over."
"You've got two strings to your bow, of course—like all you pretty women?"
"No, I haven't. Yet—well, there's a man I've seen a few times lately. And I do take to him something wonderful. There's that about him I've never felt in no other man. Only, so far as I know, he don't care a button for me. He may be tokened, come to think of it. I never heard him say he wasn't. I never thought of that!"
She sat quite absorbed by this sudden possibility, while Jarratt Weekes stared angrily at her.
"You'll puzzle me to my dying day," he growled. "If any other female could talk such things, we'd say it was terrible unmaidenly in her; but you—naked truth's indecent in most mouths—it seems natural to yours. Not that I like you the better for it."
"He's a huge man, and works at Ruddyford. He's been drawing peat these last few days, and I've had speech with him, an' gived him cider thrice. To see him drink!"
"Damn him and his cider!" said Weekes, irritably. "A common labourer! You really ought to pride yourself a thought higher, Sarah Jane. What would your poor mother have said?"
"She done exactly the same herself. And a prettier woman far than me when she was young. For faither's often told me so. He's raised himself since he was married. So might this chap. All the same, I don't know whether he gives me a thought when I'm out of his sight."
"I think of nought but you—all day long."