and extorted from Grace a hurried statement of what had happened.
Berkins had proposed to her, he had told her he had never seen any one
except her whom he would care to make his wife. What had she said? She
didn't know. She couldn't really remember. She had been taken so
suddenly, she was so upset, that she hadn't known what to say. She
thought she had said something about the honour--but she really had
not had time to say much, for at that moment they were at the gate.
Did she intend to accept him? She didn't know; she could not make up
her mind. It was a terrible thing to throw over poor Jack; she didn't
think she could do it--no matter what father might say. However, she
knew he would never give his consent, so it was no use thinking,

"I hope she won't begin to cry," whispered Sally, who had followed
Maggie to the sideboard.

"Father looks as if he were going to cry," replied Maggie, moving the
decanters and pretending to look for a glass.

Seven thousand a year, ten thousand a year! Would Grace have him? What
would father settle on her? The sum he settled on her he must settle
on them when they married. As Berkins's wife Grace would have
servants, jewels, rich dresses, and a house in London, and they
thought of the advantage this marriage would be to them.

The knives clattered; cheese and celery were being eaten. Mr. Brookes
had drunk several glasses of port, and was on the verge of tears.
Berkins's high shoulders and large voice dominated the dining-table;
he was decidedly more than usually impressed by his own worth, and the
worth of the money of which he was the representative. Willy chewed
his cheese; there were many wrinkles about his eyes--deep lines