‘I could endure life even at Bridford with you.’
‘Ah, but you have never seen the place, love.’
‘I repeat that I could share your life and labours even at Bridford,’ she said, smiling at him.
He gave a little sigh.
‘I am afraid you hardly know what you are promising. Know then, dearest, that I am in treaty with the Vicar of Bridford, with a view to getting his living transferred to me. It is a charge for which he is eminently unfitted. I began some good work there, and left it unfinished. As vicar I could do much that I vainly attempted as curate. I should have larger scope, better opportunities. I could get a band of hard-working young men round me. Yes, I believe I could transform the place.’
‘I am like Ruth,’ said Beatrix, tenderly. ‘I follow where I love. Your duties shall be my duties, and your home my home. It shall go hard with me if I cannot make home pleasant to you, even at Bridford.’
‘And you will be content to see your wealth applied to doing good among a rough and often ungrateful population?’
‘I can imagine no better use for my wealth.’
‘Would you not rather that we should live at Culverhouse, in that fine old house, in the midst of that beautiful country? Poor Kenrick’s death has made Culverhouse mine, you know.’
‘I had rather live where your life can be most useful—noblest—and where I can help you.’