“Oh, your father!—anyone else?”
“I love the dear old parson.”
“The parson? why so?”
“Because one can learn so much from him.”
“Oh, learn, learn!” exclaimed Pooke impatiently. “At that rate you will love the schoolmaster, for he can teach you all sorts of things—why some stars twinkle and others do not; and why the tides do not come regular by half an hour. If that sort of foolery suits you, he’ll do.”
“It is no foolery, dear friend Jan. I have said that I did regard and like you.” Her face had become crimson.
“But you will not love me.”
“Jan, I shall always think of you as a brother or a cousin. You are so good, so true, so kind. You deserve the best girl in Coombe, and I am not that.”
He wanted to interrupt her, but she proceeded, laying her finger-tips on his breast.
“No, Jan, I am not that—I know it well; and I know that your father, not even sister Sue, would have you marry me. I cannot love you, and you would be unhappy with me.”