"Mending my chimney?" Miss Lydia said, thoughtfully. "Well—that wouldn't take nearly all this."
William's face brightened. "You are right to be prudent, Lydia," he said. "I admire prudence in a female; but still, masons and carpenters—in fact, all persons of that sort,—are—thieves!" Then he coughed delicately. "Lydia," he said, "I—I have been thinking—"
"Yes?" said Miss Lydia, calmly.
"We are so situated—each alone, that perhaps we might—we might, ah—marry—to our mutual advantage?"
"Marry?"
"Yes," William said, earnestly; "I should be pleased to marry, Lydy. I need a home. My health is not very good, and I need a home. You need a home, also."
"Indeed I don't!" she said; "I've got a home, thank you."
"I haven't," William said; and Lydia's blue eyes softened. "I am not very strong," he said ("though I see no reason why I should not live to old age); but I want a home. Won't you take me, Lydy?"
Miss Lydia frowned and sighed. "I am very well satisfied as I am," she said; "but perhaps that is a selfish way to look at it."
"Yes, it is," he told her, earnestly; "and you didn't use to be selfish, Lydia."