“And who is to provide the piece of candle?”
“You must do that. But stop a moment, Thyrza. The candle must be sufficiently long to allow of a proper interview. I have heard of young women taking not more than half an inch of candle—”
“I shouldn’t have taken a quarter of an inch—” muttered under her breath—“if it had rested with me.”
“I must insist that a proper-sized candle is used—not less than three inches long. Your mother will provide it, and place it on your table. And here is the young man coming,” he added; “I hear his horse’s steps outside.”
Thyrza fled to her room, resolved, at all events, not to encounter her swain before supper-time. Meeting George and Redgy an hour or two afterwards, she confided to them her troubles, and implored them at all events to keep her unwelcome suitor engaged until she was obliged to meet him at supper.
“See him while a bit of candle is burning!” exclaimed Margetts, to whom the custom seemed as outré as it had to Thyrza. “Why don’t you take a bit of candle as thin as a crown-piece? You’d soon have done with him then.”
“Ah, I thought of that,” said Thyrza; “but they won’t allow it. My mother has looked up a piece of candle long enough for an hour and a halfs interview and laid it on my dressing-table. I must take that with me; and however I am to endure an hour and a half of it I cannot think.”
“Well, you must make the best of it,” said Redgy. “George, I think you had better take her out for a walk till supper-time. I’ll go in and entertain the enamoured gentleman, if he requires entertainment.”
On entering the parlour, however, it did not appear that the soupirant for Thyrza’s favour either expected or desired any entertainment. He had duly arrived, looking very stiff and solemn in his new leather and buckram suit, and, after shaking hands with everybody all round, had seated himself in the corner, where he had remained ever since without speaking a word to any one. So he continued the entire afternoon and evening, until the supper-hour arrived, and he took his place at the table with the others, but carefully keeping the whole length and breadth of the table between himself and the object of his affection. Not a syllable did he utter during the meal; and Thyrza had come to believe that he had changed his mind and did not intend to address her, when suddenly, a few minutes before the party broke up for the night, he moved across the room and whispered in her ear, though loud enough for every one to hear, “I say, we’ll sit up to-night!”
The dispersion of the party delivered Thyrza from the necessity of replying, and presently every one had retired to his chamber, excepting Rudolf Kransberg, who remained in the parlour, which was now pitch dark, and George and Redgy, who lingered in the passage.