“Hadn’t you better have a look at my coach before it gets darker?” Will was reminded to say.
“Curse your coach!” He had reawakened the prophet.
“Easy, there!” said Will, untying his handkerchief. “It’s to be a family coach now, you see.”
“Family coach!” repeated Daniel, puzzled.
Jinny, fumbling at the lamp with butter-fingers, was glad it had not yet illumined her blushes. For, mingled with the rapturous tumult at her heart was a shrinking sense of impending publicity, of ethereal emotions too swiftly and masterfully translated into gross commitments. How had her mere passive acquiescence in a better relationship warranted Will’s larger assumptions?
“Well, that’s what it’ll be if you accept my proposition, won’t it?” she heard Will say.
“Set ye down, set ye down!” said Daniel. “What’s your proposition? Jinny, why’re you lazying with that lamp?”
“In a moment, Gran’fer.”
She brought it in, its fat globe shedding a rosy glow over the dingy wall-paper, the squat chairs, and the china shepherdesses. But for herself she had no need of it. Everything seemed to her transfigured, steeped in a heavenly light.
“Where’s that beer?” the ancient roared, its absence illumined.