Jennie. Axed me to marry him, mum.
Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley—asked—you—to—to marry him?
[Barlow whistles.
Jennie (bursting into tears again). Yes, mum, he did, mum, right here in this room. He got down on his knees to me on that Proossian rug before the sofa, mum. I was standin' behind the sofa, havin' just come in to tell him as how you'd be down shortly. He was standin' before the lookin'-glass lookin' at himself, an' when I come in he turns around and goes down on his knees and says such an importunity may not occur again, mum; I've loved you very long; and then he recited some pottery, mum, and said would I be his wife.
Yardsley (desperately). Let me explain.
Dorothy. Wait; Mr. Yardsley; your turn will come in a moment.
Barlow. Yes, it'll be here, my boy; don't fret about that. Take all the time you need to make it a good one. Gad! if this doesn't strain your imagination, nothing will.
Dorothy. Go on, Jennie. Then what happened?
Yardsley (with an injured expression). Do you expect me to stand here, Miss Andrews, and hear this girl's horrible story?
Barlow. Then you know the story, do you, Yardsley? It's horrible, and you are innocent. My! you are a mind-reader with a vengeance.