Olivia uttered a low cry of horror.
“You want a wife to look after you. Some men can get on best without a woman; I’m one: that’s why I’m married. Some can’t get on without one; you’re one of that sort: that’s why you’re a bachelor. One of the dodges of Providence to keep us from growing too fond of this precious world, I suppose.”
“Well, as I choose to mortify the flesh by remaining a bachelor, it’s unkind of you to throw my misfortune in my face, isn’t it?” said Vernon, not succeeding very well in the effort to speak in his usual manner.
“Sit down, man,” said Ned, peremptorily. “You ought to be in bed. On the other hand, if you knock off your work, who’s to do it for you?”
“Nobody; there is nobody; therefore I must not knock off,” said Vernon, feverishly.
“Oh, yes, you must. Health’s everything,” said Ned, with his small, sharp eyes fixed on the floor. “Now I’ve a proposal to make to you. There’s not much of a parson’s work a rough man like me can do, but there’s some, taking messages and seeing people and things like that. Now it’s precious dull up at my hole of a cottage. So I’m coming to stay a day or two with you, and your old woman can put me up in the little room that’s next to your bedroom. It’s all settled, you understand,” he added, lifting his hand and raising his voice peremptorily at the same time.
“It’s awfully good of you,” said Vernon, though his tone betrayed more curiosity than gratitude. “But, at any rate, if you choose to stay here, you shall have the best bedroom we can offer you. The little box next to mine is filled with nothing but lumber.”
“That’s the room I mean to have, though,” said Ned, stubbornly. “I’m of a romantic and melancholy disposition, and I like the view. It looks out into the churchyard.”
The curiosity died out suddenly from Vernon’s face.
“And if I am compelled to assure you that it is impossible that room should be used?”