‘Well, a body ’ud really think they need n’t be so pushin’,’ remarked Isaac. ‘It be downright ondacent for ’em to be a-hangin’ about ’ee so soon—’
‘They have no business to think of it at all, Mr. Sharpe,’ interrupted the widow fiercely. ‘I shall never, never put anyone in my dear Elias’s place!’
‘That’s very well said, my dear,’ returned Isaac, looking at her with real kindness and emotion. ‘’T is the proper spirit. I myself, as you may have heard me say, was never one to set up for wedlock. Well, ye’ve had a husband, and a good ’un, an’ you be in the right o’t to be satisfied wi’ that, just as I be satisfied wi’ havin’ no wife at all. Dear heart alive! when I were a young chap the maids did use to be castin’ their eyes at me, but I never took no notice, and when I grew more staid there was one very perseverin’ woman, I do mind—very perseverin’ she were. Ah, she come to house here, time and again, wi’ one excuse or another, and at last, so soon as I did see her comin’ I did use to shut door in her face.’
‘Why, that’s what I shall do,’ cried Rosalie, laughing, and clapping her hands—‘that’s the very thing I shall do. Thank you for the hint, Mr. Sharpe. That again, you see, will be deeds, not words.’
Isaac looked kindly at the bright face and sparkling eyes, and nodded cheerfully.
‘That be the way to take ’em.’
‘I only wish I had thought of it on Sunday,’ she went on. ‘Those two men sat and talked so long, that I was wishing them anywhere. I expected you on Sunday, Mr. Sharpe,’ she added, in an altered voice, while the smile vanished from her face.
‘Did ’ee?’ said Isaac, abashed, and guilty.
‘Yes, I did, indeed—I thought you would have come if only in memory of old times.’
‘Why, to tell the trewth, I could n’t a-bear to go nigh the place,’ blurted out the farmer. ‘Nay, nay—I’ve been a-goin’ to Littlecomb Farm Sunday after Sunday for nigh upon five and twenty year. I don’t know how you could expect me, Mrs. Fiander, to go there now as he be gone.’