of me than—”
“Than he is of me, you were going to say.”
“No, aunt; I wasn’t going to say that at all.”
“Well, we shall see. If he does mean anything, of course you can please yourself; but I really think you might do worse.”
“But if I don’t want to do at all?”
“Very well; you must have your own way. I can only tell you what I think.”
At half past three o’clock punctually Mr Cheesacre came to the door, and was shown upstairs. He was told by Jeannette that Captain Bellfield had looked in on the Sunday afternoon, but that Miss Fairstairs and Miss Vavasor had been there the whole time. He had not got on his black boots nor yet had his round topped hat. And as he did wear a new frock coat, and had his left hand thrust into a kid glove, Jeannette was quite sure that he intended business of some kind. With new boots, creaking loudly, he walked up into the drawing-room, and there he found the widow alone.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she said at once. “It was so good of you to bring something that we could accept.”
“As for that,” said he, “I don’t see why you should scruple about a trifle of cream, but I hope that any such feeling as that will be over before long.” To this the widow made no answer, but she looked very sweetly on him as she bade him sit down.
He did sit down; but first he put his hat and stick carefully away in one corner, and then he pulled off his glove—somewhat laboriously, for his hand was warm. He was clearly prepared for great things. As he pushed up his hair with his hands there came from his locks an ambrosial perfume,—as of marrow-oil, and there was a fixed propriety of position of every hair of his whiskers, which indicated very plainly that he had been at a hairdresser’s shop since he left the market. Nor do I believe that he had worn that coat when he came to the door earlier in the morning. If I were to say that he had called at his tailor’s also, I do not think that I should be wrong.
“How goes everything at Oileymead?” said Mrs Greenow, seeing that her guest wanted some little assistance in leading off the conversation.
“Pretty well, Mrs Greenow; pretty well. Everything will go very well if I am successful in the object which I have on hand to-day.”
“I’m sure I hope you’ll be successful in all your undertakings.”
“In all my business undertakings I am, Mrs Greenow. There isn’t a shilling due on my land to e’er a bank in Norwich; and I haven’t thrashed out a quarter of last year’s corn yet, which is more than many of them can say. But there ain’t many of them who don’t have to pay rent, and so perhaps I oughtn’t to boast.”
“I know that Providence has been very good to you, Mr Cheesacre, as regards worldly matters.”
“And I haven’t left it all to Providence, either. Those who do, generally go to the wall, as far as I can see. I’m always at work late and early, and I know when I get a profit out of a man’s labour and when I don’t, as well as though it was my only chance of bread and cheese.”
“I always thought you understood farming business, Mr Cheesacre.”
“Yes, I do. I like a bit of fun well enough, when the time for it comes, as you saw at Yarmouth. And I keep my three or four hunters, as I think a country gentleman should; and I shoot over my own ground. But I always stick to my work. There are men, like Bellfield, who won’t work. What do they come to? They’re always borrowing.”
“But he has fought his country’s battles, Mr Cheesacre.”
“He fight! I suppose he’s been telling you some of his old stories. He was ten years in the West Indies, and all his fighting was with the mosquitoes.”
“But he was in the Crimea. At Inkerman, for instance—”
“He in the Crimea! Well, never mind. But do you inquire before you believe that story. But as I was saying, Mrs Greenow, you have seen my little place at Oileymead.”
“A charming house. All you want is a mistress for it.”
“That’s it; that’s just it. All I want is a mistress for it. And there’s only one woman on earth that I would wish to see in that position. Arabella Greenow, will you be that woman?” As he made the offer he got up and stood before her, placing his right hand upon his heart.
“I, Mr Cheesacre!” she said.
“Yes, you. Who else? Since I saw you what other woman has been anything to me; or, indeed, I may say before? Since the first day I saw you I felt that there my happiness depended.”
“Oh, Mr Cheesacre, I thought you were looking elsewhere.”
“No, no, no. There never was such a mistake as that. I have the highest regard and esteem for Miss Vavasor, but really—”
“Mr Cheesacre, what am I to say to you?”
“What are you to say to me? Say that you’ll be mine. Say that I shall be yours. Say that all I have at Oileymead shall be yours. Say that the open carriage for a pair of ponies to be driven by a lady which I have been looking at this morning shall be yours. Yes, indeed; the sweetest thing you ever saw in your life,—just like one that the lady of the Lord Lieutenant drives about in always. That’s what you must say. Come, Mrs Greenow!”
“Ah, Mr Cheesacre, you don’t know what it is to have buried the pride of your youth hardly yet twelve months.”
“But you have buried him, and there let there be an end of it. Your sitting here all alone, morning, noon, and night, won’t bring him back. I’m sorry for him; I am indeed. Poor Greenow! But what more can I do?”
“I can do more, Mr Cheesacre. I can mourn for him in solitude and in silence.”
“No, no, no. What’s the use of it,—breaking your heart for nothing,—and my heart too. You never think of that.” And Mr Cheesacre spoke in a tone that was full of reproach.
“It cannot be, Mr Cheesacre.”
“Ah, but it can be. Come, Mrs Greenow. We understand each other well enough now, surely. Come, dearest.” And he approached her as though to put his arm round her waist. But at that moment there came a knock at the door, and Jeannette, entering the room, told her mistress that Captain Bellfield was below and wanted to know whether he could see her for a minute on particular business.
“Show Captain Bellfield up, certainly,” said Mrs Greenow.
“D–––– Captain Bellfield!” said Mr Cheesacre.
Chapter XXI.
Alice Is Taught to Grow Upwards, Towards the Light
Before the day came on which Alice was to go to Matching Priory, she had often regretted that she had been induced to make the promise, and yet she had as often
