At this sudden change of front Miss Waring lowered her flag of truce and looked at the enemy askance.
“What is it, Marthy?” inquired that gentleman anxiously. “Won’t that suit ye?”
Evidently Martha had never entertained such a possibility. And of this she presently gave verbal assurance, in a tone of the most doubting.
“I never thought of that, Jonas,” she said slowly. “It would seem so odd to live here and have a stranger in the house.”
“A stranger, Marthy!” expostulated Jonas piteously. “I, a stranger! And whose fault is it if I’m a stranger to you? But never mind about that,” he added hastily. “Just give me a chance, and we’ll get acquainted fast enough! Won’t ye, Marthy—dear?” He uttered the last word timidly and drew nearer his love.
This lady felt her heart as water within her. Indeed, a little of it exuded from her eyes, to the further confusion and agony of Jonas Lane.
“What is the matter, Marthy?” he cried. “For mercy’s sake tell me! Heaven knows I don’t want to make you feel bad! I only want to make you happy and to be happy with you—as I’ve looked forward to for twenty years.”
“I know it, Jonas,” conceded the lady of his dreams. “And I hate to be like this. But—it would be so odd—so odd! And if you came here I s’pose we’d have to be—married——”
As she paused, plucking at a fold of her skirt, the wondering Jonas broke in:
“I rather guess we’d have to, Marthy.”