"Oh, good gracious—it is—so sudden——" she gasped, looking about for some chance of escape. "Don't, sir! I assure you I am the worst sort of servant. I have deceived you: as a matter of fact, I know almost nothing of housework or farm work—I——"
"Well, at least, you know how to laugh and while the time away. Never mind about the work—we shall get on; we'll let the work go. Only sing for me—come, let us be gay."
"Alas! I do not feel gay——"
"Then sing something that is not gay. Sing what you will—but sing," he urged. He was more in love with her every moment, and not knowing what else to do Martha sang—"'Tis the Last Rose of Summer!"
By the time the song was sung, Lionel had quite lost his head.
"Martha, since the moment I first saw thee, I have loved thee madly. Be my wife and I will be your willing slave—you may count on me to do the spinning and everything else, if only you will be my wife. I'll raise thee to my own station." This was really too much. Martha looked at him in amazement.
"Raise me—er—" In spite of herself she had to laugh. Then, with a feeling of tenderness growing in her heart, she felt sorry for him.
"I am sorry to cause you pain, but really you don't know what you are saying. I——" And at this crisis Nancy and Plunkett came in, Plunkett raising a great to-do because Nancy had been hiding successfully from him, in the kitchen.
"She hasn't been cooking," he explained; "simply hiding—and I can't abide idle ways—never could—now what is wrong with you two?" he asks, observing the restraint felt by Lionel and Martha; but before any one could answer, midnight struck.
"Twelve o'clock!" all exclaimed.