“Oh, no,” said Miss Pavey blankly, as she dropped her hands into her lap. “It wasn’t that, dear.”
“What was it, then?” said Rhoda wonderingly.
“I thought—I hoped—I fancied,” faltered Miss Pavey, “that you would not mind my—oh dear! I can hardly tell you.”
The hands went up over her face again.
“Why surely, Martha, you are not going to be married?” said Rhoda.
“Yes, dear. Isn’t it shocking?” exclaimed Miss Pavey, more volubly now the murder was out. “I used to think that Mr Lee would have proposed to me, for no one knows what I have done for that man; and you know, dear, how much interest I have taken in the parish for his sake.”
“Yes, you have taken a great deal of interest in the parish, I know,” replied Rhoda.
“But I have long come to the conclusion, dear, that he is a man who will never marry. Oh dear no! I can read it in his countenance. Seriously though, to deal with the matter plainly, I do not think he would have done wrong; but, as I have said, dear, he is not a marrying man.”
“But you have not told me the name of the gentleman to whom you are going to be married.”
“Oh, my dear Rhoda, how droll you are. You are so wrapped up in your own affairs that you forget. Why, Mr Chynoweth, of course. Poor man, he has been so pressing of late, that I don’t like to refuse him any longer, dear. It would be unkind; and I must own that we are very fond of each other, and I thought I should like for us to be married with you.”