"It's me! Miss Betsey. Will you take me? I'm no great match for any girl now, I know that; but will you take me?"
"I don't like foolin' on such subjects, Mr. Webb; and it wasn't gentleman-like of you to bring me away in your buggy to talk like this." Her face was scarlet, as she said it, and looked in his; but there was no bantering smile there,--and a catch came in her throat, which sent the blood throbbing down to her finger-tips, as the idea crossed her mind that the man was in earnest. In that case, however, he would speak again, so she said no more.
"But this ain't foolin'. Miss Betsey, and I don't know what right you have to accuse me of sich. Did any one ever know me, man or boy, to tell a lie? I ask you plainly, Betsey Bunce, will you marry me?"
"Oh, laws! Joe Webb--I never--let me out here! I never--oh! you've took me all of a heap. Stop the buggy."
Joe drew rein, and stopped the equipage in the middle of the road, just where the shadow of a tall poplar by the wayside would shelter them from the sun; and there he sat, looking hot about the temples, and trying to settle his eyes on the tips of his horse's ears, because these could not return the look, while he dared not turn elsewhere for fear a mocking glance should meet him and complete his discomfiture, as he sat there awaiting his answer, feeling like a fool who has surrendered his shoulders to the smiters--a trapped animal awaiting the arrival of the hunters--the man who has put it in a girl's power to say she refused him. It was a moment of dread and suspense for Joe.
Betsey fanned herself vehemently--what a privilege a fan must be, sometimes. Since their stoppage she had become less eager to alight. She made no move, sat perfectly still, and let the perturbation of her spirits expend itself in fanning. She was coming to herself again. And, oh! so pleasantly. "What a puss she had been! And that--most wonderful of all--without suspecting it herself. And there he was on his knees before her! or what was just the same thing, perched at her elbow in infinite discomfort, looking all the colours of the rainbow in his misery." "And should she have him? that was the point. If she had snared him without knowing it, might there not be others sighing in secret?" She glanced at him over her fan--that precious fan!--glanced over it as the timid fawn does over a park paling, and then is off to hide its head in a bush when the keeper comes in sight. "And how handsome he was! and how foolish he looked, poor fellow, getting himself into a state about poor she! It was delightful. And he so broad-shouldered and manly! She could not find it in her heart to cause him pain--especially when he had made herself so--happy. And those old maids she had parted from at church, how she pitied them! How she should continue to pity them all the rest of her life--her married life!" She peeped over the fan again, and there was poor Joe fidgeting worse than ever--for all the world, like a bull at a bull-baiting--tied to the stake, unable to get away, amid fears and fancies at his own absurd position, like the yelping curs, which plague the noble brute. Then she glanced along the road. A cloud of dust was approaching, a waggon within it, for already she could hear the rattle of wheels and the clank of harness. Already Joe was rousing himself and gathering up his reins for a start. Time was up. If she let this opportunity pass, and allowed matters to fall back into everyday life, how would she ever bring them up again to this point? It was provoking, the dalliance was so pleasant, but she could not risk a slip; so, shutting her eyes, and shutting up her fan, she took the leap--and just in time, for the buggy was already in motion.
She said it very softly. What she said Joe could not hear for the noise of the wheels, very likely she did not know precisely herself what it was; but they both took it to mean consent, and Joe, so soon as that lumbering waggon was fairly past, stooped down and sealed it on her lips, as in duty bound.
Then there was a silence of some duration, though both were too busy with their own thoughts to notice it; till at length Joe remembered that the purpose of their expedition was fulfilled, and asked his companion if she did not think they had better return. Betsey was ready to think whatever her Joe thought, leaning up with an undesirable closeness that warm day, and softly fanning their joint countenances with a fond and lingering motion of her fan. In time she heaved a sigh, deep and full of overflowing enjoyment, and then she spoke.
"Do you know, Joe dear, you have given me a great surprise to-day?"
Joe's tight-strained feelings had run themselves down now. He felt--"tired in his inside," I fear, would have been his inelegant expression, and longed for a glass of beer. He felt incapable of conversation, and even a little grumpy, perhaps. Such strange and inconsistent creatures are the men.