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“I can’t make tops or bottoms of it,” he said, “but she asked me, as sure as God’s my maker
.”

“I know. It was me, I wanted it.”

“You!” he cried, “you wanted to marry me!”

The girl bowed her head, lovely in her grief and modesty: “She was against it, but I made her ask you.”

“And I hadn’t an idea that you cast a thought on me,” he murmured.”I feared it was a sort of trick she was playing on me. I didn’t understand, I had no idea that you knew about it even. And so I didn’t ever ask you.”

“Oh, why not, why not? I was fond of you then,” whispered she.”Mother tried to persuade me against it, but I was fond of you—then.”

He was in a queer distress and confusion: “Oh, if you’d only tipped me a word, or given me a sort of look,” he sighed, “Oh, Mary!”

She said no more but went downstairs. He followed her and immediately fetched the lamps from his gig. As he lit the candles: “How strange,” Mary said, “that you should come back just as I most needed help. I am very grateful.”

“Mary, I’ll drive you to the doctor’s now.”

She shook her head; she was smiling.

“Then I’ll stay till the nurse comes.”

“No, you must go. Go at once.”

He picked up the two lamps, and turning at the door said: “I’ll come again tomorrow.” Then the wind rushed into the room: “Goodbye,” she cried, shutting the door quickly behind him.

He drove away in deep darkness, the wind howling, his thoughts strange and bitter. He had thrown away a love, a love that was dumb and hid itself. By God, he had thrown away a fortune, too! And he had forgotten all about his real errand until now, forgotten all about the loan! Well, let it go; give it up. He would give up higgling; he would take on some other job; a bailiff, a working bailiff, that was the job as would suit him, a working bailiff. Of course there was Sophy; but still—Sophy!