‘You are very good,’ said she. ‘I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. And now I think I must be moving home, for I am very busy to-day.’
‘Allow me to escort you,’ urged Andrew. ‘’T was a disapp’intment to me not to find you at home. I am rej’iced to have overtaken you, and anxious to prorogue the interview. There’s a season for condoliances and a season for congratulations. This here is the time for congratulations, and I am anxious, Mrs. Fiander, ma’am, to prorogue it.’
‘My work is waiting for me at home,’ said the young widow in alarm. ‘I am afraid I shall have no time to attend to you; but, perhaps, some other day—’
She broke off and began to walk away rapidly; but the uneven, lumbering steps kept pace with hers.
‘Christmas comes but once a year,’ remarked Mr. Burge, somewhat thickly. ‘’T is a joyful season—a season as fills a man’s ’eart with ’ope and ’appiness.’
This observation appearing to call for no rejoinder, Rosalie let it pass unnoticed except by a slight quickening of her pace; to no purpose, however, for her unwelcome companion kept by her side.
‘Christmas for ever!’ he ejaculated huskily, with an appropriate flourish of his hat. Instead of restoring it to its place after this sudden display of enthusiasm, he continued to wave it uncertainly, not over his own head, but over Rosalie’s, leering the while in a manner which materially increased her discomposure. All at once she saw that a sprig of mistletoe was tucked into the band of Mr. Burge’s head-gear, and almost at the moment she made this discovery he lurched forward, so as to bar her progress, and bent his face towards hers.
‘How dare you!’ cried Rosalie, thrusting him from her with a vigorous push; then, as he momentarily lost his equilibrium and staggered backwards against the hedge, she fairly took to her heels and fled from him at full speed, not towards her own home, but to Isaac Sharpe’s premises.
‘O Mr. Sharpe!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Oh, oh, save me! He’s after me!’
‘Who’s arter you, my dear? Why, you be a-shakin’ same as an aspen-tree. What in the name o’ Goodness has put you in such a state?’