'Why should I have thought I must tell you? You had not spoken "frankly"
then as you have now. We have been all to each other more than these two
years, and I thought I would propose that we marry privately, and that I
then leave you on the instant. I would have taken my travelling-bag to
church, and you would have gone home alone. I should not have started on
my adventures in the brilliant manner of our original plan, but should
have roughed it a little at first; my great gain would have been that the
absolute possession of you would have enabled me to work with spirit and
purpose, such as nothing else could do. But I dare not ask you now--so
frank as you have been.'

She did not answer. The document he had produced gave such unexpected
substantiality to the venture with which she had so long toyed as a vague
dream merely, that she was, in truth, frightened a little. 'I--don't
know about it!' she said.

'Perhaps not. Ah, my little lady, you are wearying of me!'

'No, Nic,' responded she, creeping closer. 'I am not. Upon my word, and
truth, and honour, I am not, Nic.'

'A mere tiller of the soil, as I should be called,' he continued, without
heeding her. 'And you--well, a daughter of one of the--I won't say
oldest families, because that's absurd, all families are the same age--one
of the longest chronicled families about here, whose name is actually the
name of the place.'

'That's not much, I am sorry to say! My poor brother--but I won't speak
of that . . . Well,' she murmured mischievously, after a pause, 'you