She inclined her head. “The doctor says he may have to go any moment. It may be his one chance. The Cure is very kind, and says that, with your permission, his sister will keep the office here, if—if needed.”
The Seigneur nodded briskly. “Of course, of course. But have you not thought that we might secure another postmistress?”
Her face clouded a little; her heart beat hard. She knew what was coming. She dreaded it, but it was better to have it over now.
“We could not live without it,” she said helplessly.
“What we have saved is not enough. The little my mother had must pay for the visits to the hospital. I have kept it for that. You see, I need the place here.”
“But you have thought, just the same. Do you not know the day?” he asked meaningly.
She was silent.
“I have come to ask you to marry me—this is Michaelmas day, Rosalie.”
She did not speak. He had hopes from her silence. “If anything happened to your father, you could not live here alone—but a young girl! Your father may be in the hospital for a long time. You cannot afford that. If I were to offer you money, you would refuse. If you marry me, all that I have is yours to dispose of at your will: to make others happy, to take you now and then from this narrow place, to see what’s going on in the world.”
“I am happy here,” she said falteringly.