For a moment the mother glanced about her rather helplessly. Then she gathered her faculties with an effort.
"Have—have you asked her?"
"No, ma'am."
Ailsa Mowbray further added a helpless gesture with her hands. It seemed to be the cue the man was awaiting.
"No, ma'am," he reiterated. "I'd have spoken months ago, but—for the things that's happened. Maybe you won't just get it when I say that with Allan around the position was clear as day. It was up to me to leave her folks till I'd asked her. Now it's different. Jessie has no father behind her. Only her mother. And her mother has no husband behind her to help her figger her daughter's future right. Now I come to you, ma'am. Guess I'm a plain man more ways than one. I'm just thirty-five. I've a goodish stake in this proposition of ours, and can give your daughter all she needs of the world's goods. I love her, and want her bad, ma'am. If she'll marry me, why, I'll just do all I know to make her happy."
The appeal was full of simple, straightforward honesty. There could be no denying it. Even its crudity was all in its favor. But all this passed Ailsa Mowbray completely by.
"What made you choose this moment?" she questioned, avoiding any direct answer.
Murray laughed. It was a laugh which hid his real feelings. He held up the letter.
"John Kars is coming along up."
"And so you spoke—before he came."