‘Ay, second best. You’ll not make me believe as how you are wedding for love, sir.’
‘I—I am very fond of you,’ Meadowes began, but Anne stopped him impatiently.
‘Not you, sir. I’m rarely fine-looking, an’ men be terrible fools. You’ve a mind to marry—that’s short and long for it,—but for love——’
The silence that Anne ended her sentence with was more expressive than words. Then she turned and laid her hand in his.
‘Here, sir,’ she said, ‘I’ll ask no questions. Mayhap you’ve had your story like myself. Leastways you’ve been kind to me, and I’ll be a good wife to you if you’re wishful to marry with me. Like enough some day we may both forget——’
She turned hastily away with a sob that would not be kept back.
‘Shall we say Friday of next week, then, Anne?’ said Meadowes, passing his arm round her and patting her shoulder very kindly.
‘When you please, sir.’
‘And we shall be married here, not in church, for the reason I have mentioned?’
‘Any place you please, sir.’