"Well, it would be wiser for the other fellow to get a promise of work. I might ask if there were an opening," Paul had replied.
"It's not a man as I was thinking of, sir. It was a wife!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," the squire said laughing. "But if you care for my opinion on a subject of which I know but little, I believe quite the wisest thing you could do would be to take out a wife with you. She would make a home for you and keep you steady. I expect you have some girl in your eye, Burney."
Tom smiled rather sheepishly; it would be time enough to mention Rose when his banns were put up.
And that very afternoon when work was over, Tom had gone home and put on his best clothes; then walked boldly up to the Court and demanded an interview with Rose. She came into the servant's hall where he waited nervously by the fire, and, giving him a careless nod, seated herself and put her toes upon the fender.
"What is it, Tom? I can't stop long; I'm expecting Miss Webster in every minute."
"It's come at last: what I've waited for," stammered Tom. "I've a chance of giving you a home, Rose: a nice one, as far as I can make out."
"Where?" asked Rose, with shining eyes and parted lips, a vision of herself as a bride, in a white frock, and handsome Tom as her bridegroom, floating before her.
"In Tasmania; if you love me well enough to come with me out there. It's a wonderful offer that the squire has given me; and some day I may bring you home almost like a lady."
"But I don't know where it is, and I wouldn't go if I did—not with you nor any man! What can you be thinking of to stuff me up with nonsense like that?" Rose asked poutingly. "I'll have a home on this side of the water, or nowhere."