“And, the most painful thing of all for my wife, is she would have to resign herself to the fact that I am not a believer. I suspect a great many others observe the outward forms of religion, simply because it is expected. But my vanity is such that I cannot be a play-actor in what for me are empty mummeries. My wife would have to content herself with the thought that her husband has tried to be a good man during his time on Earth.
“What do you think? You have known me for several years now, what have I forgotten?”
Fanny felt her face must be scarlet. Thankfully, she was able to turn her head away a little, and the brim of her bonnet shielded her countenance from scrutiny. At last, she commanded herself enough to respond.
“Theoretically, Mr. Gibson, I believe a wife will endure many little faults in her husband if she has respect for his character and his principles. Observation has convinced me that respect is the foundation of matrimonial happiness. A wife wants to look up to her husband, and if she cannot, she is the most unfortunate of creatures.”
“If only you meant ‘look up to’ literally and not figuratively, Miss Price. I could set my mind at ease at once, for the top of your head barely comes up to my shoulder.”
Fanny suddenly recalled what Mr. Edifice had said—about Mr. Gibson’s determination to marry an heiress—and she was now thoroughly confused, not daring to believe what she was hearing.
“Miss Price, please, stop for a moment. Here is a little grove of laurels, will you step this way with me, so that I may speak to you privately.” His hand at the small of her back guided her off the main pathway to a smaller path which terminated at a little bench, surrounded by shrubbery.
“When opportunity serves, Miss Price, I can go down on one knee, as the proper form requires, but even a man as love-struck as I cannot enjoy the thought of kneeling in this gravel for any length of time. The occasion and my sentiments impel me to speak, although the place may not serve us so well. Please, take a seat, and if I may, I will do likewise.”
Fanny did not dissemble, did not murmur, “oh! But this is so unexpected, sir!” in the fashion prescribed for virtuous young heroines, although she was, in fact, completely surprised. While reason told her she could not be in error—Mr. Gibson was going to propose to her—her timidity and modesty still kept her in anxious suspense.
Retaining her hand, while she maintained the privilege of breathless silence, Mr. Gibson went on: “What I meant to say, Miss Price, is that I believe it is best to be as fully acquainted as possible with the faults of the person with whom you are to spend the rest of your life. Don’t you think this is the soundest way to proceed? Then, should discord arise in the future, the other party can say, ‘but you knew that when you married me!’”
“You have given the matter a great deal of thought, Mr. Gibson,” said Fanny, still at a loss for what she ought to say. “But... you say you are speaking theoretically?”
“Correct. This is not a proposal of marriage, merely a preamble. And why? Because your understanding is so superior, Fanny. May I not call you Fanny?”
“Of course. You earned the right to call me Fanny when you saved my life.” She managed to glance up at him briefly.
A grateful smile answered her, and he squeezed her hand. “What a good thought. I am not above acting upon your feelings of gratitude when the time comes to make my proposal. Yes, that would be very prudent on my part. Something like, ‘pardon the moan of pain which escaped me when I knelt down just now, my dear Fanny, but I am still a trifle stiff and sore after knocking you to the pavement last week.’”
“You took a tolerably severe blow to the head as well, Mr. Gibson. I trust that you are thinking clearly.”
“A fair question. But my faculties have never been so acute, Fanny, nor have I ever been so certain of my purpose. Oh! And I forgot. An addendum to the list of my faults: I am a most indifferent dancer.”
“Oh please, Mr. Gibson!”
I never thought I would be suppressing the urge to giggle at a time like this, Fanny thought to herself, as she stole another quick look at her suitor’s earnest, beautiful face, before once more turning away.
“Sorry. But it’s true.”
“I hardly know whether you are being serious or if you are teasing. Perhaps, when it comes to proposals of marriage, I am more conventional.”
“Remember we are only discussing theoreticals today. Whatever form of marriage proposal you desire, you shall have from me, Fanny. I believe I can carry off any style with some credit—romantic, or business-like, or pitiable, abject pleas—you have but to indicate your preference. The thought of someone liking me well enough to marry me does fill me with amusement and wonder, Fanny. That is why it is difficult for me to be serious, you see.
“I want to give you time to consider the idea, Fanny. Do not answer me now, for I haven’t asked you yet! Please think upon it. May I call upon you next week? Be sure to provide a cushion for my knees. They are rather bony. Do you object to bony knees? Another mark against me.”
Fanny was now too overcome for speech, and William saw he had teased her too much. In a more gentle tone, he murmured, “May I speak to you in... a week?”
With her face still averted, she shyly nodded ‘yes,’ and in
