“Yes, Betsey, we’ve made it up all right,” he said.
“I—I didn’t think it,” sobbed Miss Burge.
“No,” he said; “and it isn’t as you think, for this is our very, very dear young friend, Betsey, and—and as I’m plenty old enough to be her father, Hazel Thorne’s going to let me act by her like one, and stand by her through thick and thin, in spite of all that the world may say, including you, Miss Lambent.” He spoke proudly, as he drew Hazel closer to his breast, and stood there softly stroking her hair, with so frank and honest a light shining out of his eyes that it brightened the whole man.
“Sir!” exclaimed Rebecca.
“Madam!” he cried, “I don’t want to be rude; but, as your company can’t be pleasant to Miss Hazel Thorne, I’d take it kindly if you’d go.”
“And I was ready to forget my position and marry a man like this,” muttered Rebecca as she walked down to the gate. “Oh, that creature! She came upon Plumton like a curse.”
“Betsey, my dear,” said Mr William Forth Burge, speaking to his sister, but speaking at Hazel, “you and me never had anything kept from one another, and please God we never will, so I’ll tell you. I’ve been asking Miss Hazel Thorne here to be my wife.”
“Yes, Bill dear, I know—I know,” sobbed little Miss Burge.
“And while I’ve been asking her, it came over me like that I was wrong to ask her, and that it wouldn’t be natural and right.”
“Oh, Bill dear!”