"Are you a bit better, lass?" he asked, a tender intonation in his gruff voice. "Pain in the side any less bad?"
"Yes, George, I feel much better."
"Well, I'm glad of that," he said slowly. "Now you look well at me. Don't you take your eyes off me while I'm a-speaking. I've been counting the days. I mark 'em down on the back of the fowl-house door with a bit of chalk; and it's forty days and more since you gave me the least little peck of a kiss, even. Do you think you could give me one now?"
She raised her lips, slowly. He could not but perceive her unwillingness, and a wave of crimson swept up over his face.
"I don't want that sort," he said, flinging his arm away and moving a step or two back from her. "There, I ain't angry; I ain't no call to be angry; you were honest with me afore we wed. You said plain as girl could speak, 'I ain't got the least bit of love for you, George,' and I took you at your word; but sometimes, Het, it seems as if it 'ud half kill me, for I love you better every day and every hour."
"I know you're as good a fellow as ever breathed," said Hetty; "and I like you even though I don't love you. I'll try hard to be a good wife to you, George, I will truly."
"You're main pleased about Squire, I take it?"
"I am main pleased."
"'Tw'ere a pity the little chap were took so sudden-like."
"I s'pose so," said Hetty.