“Lost it!” she exclaimed aghast. “Lost it—O Mus’ Doubleday!” Her sewing fell to the ground, and he would have picked it up but her hand on his arm checked him. “Lost it?” she questioned again, whereupon he turned away lest she might read his truthful eyes.
“Aye, Mrs. Ann,” he mumbled, “Sir John hath dis-charged me; he ... he don’t want me for his valet any longer, d’ye see....” The Corporal heard a soft, inarticulate cry, and then her arms were about his neck.
“Mus’ Doubleday ... O Robert!” she whispered. “There, there, never grieve, then—doan’t ’ee! There’s me left ... arlways me ... an’ I shan’t never change.”
For a moment he sat motionless, then, forgetting his imperturbability altogether, Corporal Robert clasped and drew her to his kisses; and between the two of them they mightily ruffled his neat wig, whereupon he snatched it off altogether.
“Wait a bit, lass—wait!” he exclaimed, with a catch in his voice. “Look, Ann, see how grey my hair is! I’m too old for ye, my sweet maid.... O Ann, I’m forty-five and——”
“Why, Bob,” she cried, between laughing and crying, “as if age mattered—doan’t ’ee be fullish! An’ if your ’air be a bit grey-like,’tis so I do love it best!” And, drawing his head down, she kissed him upon each temple where the hair was greyest. “And so, dear Robert, if you’ve lost your place wi’ Sir John Dering you’ve—found me!”
“O Ann—my sweet,” said the Corporal, his voice more unsteady than ever, “listen a bit more! ’Tis true Sir John hath discharged me ... I mean as his valet, but—O Ann ... he’s made me his bailiff instead!”
“Bailiff?” she gasped. “D’ye mean the same as Mus’ Sturton was? Wi’ horses to ride ... an’ a fine house——”
“And you in it, Ann—you in it to make it home. Though you’re much too young for a wife ... or I’m much too old——”