‘But you will trust me, Anne?’ he said.
‘No. I’ll never trust no man again this side time. But I’ll come an’ live along of you, sir, if so be I’m done with work and care for ever.’
‘Anne, Anne, do not be so bitter,’ said Meadowes. Anne stood looking at him silently for a moment, then she laughed.
‘ ’Tis like I’m marrying you for love, sir?’ she said.
‘Well, I have done what I could for you,’ said Meadowes (but he blushed hotly as he spoke. ‘I am a devil,’ he said to himself).
‘You have, sir, one way, but now you’ve showed your hand, so to say. I knew as it would be this way some day—I’ve had lovers an’ lovers by the score. Not but that you’ve been civil and taken your time, sir. Well, as I do say, sir, you be kind and I’ll take you for that. But ’tis not for love, sir. I have no heart left in me now, but a stone where it once was. A woman she do have two throws o’ the dice in her life—one’s love an’ t’other’s money. Lose the first; you’d best, if you’re a wise woman, have a try for the second, for with never the one nor t’other you be in a sad case.’
Meadowes listened gravely to this, Anne’s gospel of prudence.
‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘that’s your way of thinking, Anne, and mayhap mine is not so different—to take what I can get.’
‘What are you gettin’, sir?’ asked Anne, turning suddenly to him. ‘Lor’ sakes, sir! what hath gone agin you in life that you take second best so soon?’
‘Second best?’ queried Meadowes.