“Mamma,” she said, “I did not know that he had spoken to you in that way.”
“In what way, Rachel?” Mrs. Ray’s voice was not quite pleasant. Now that Mrs. Prime was gone, she would have been glad to have had the dangerous subject abandoned for a while.
“That he had asked you to let him come here, and that he had said that about me.”
“He did then—while you were away at Mrs. Sturt’s.”
“And what answer did you give him?”
“I didn’t give him any answer. You came back, and I’m sure I was very glad that you did, for I shouldn’t have known what to say to him.”
“But what was it that he did say, mamma?—that is, if you don’t think it wrong to tell me.”
“I hardly know; but I don’t suppose it can be wrong, for no young man could have spoken nicer; and it made me happy to hear him—so it did, for the moment.”
“Oh, mamma, do tell me!” and Rachel kneeled down before her.
“Well;—he said you were the nicest girl he had ever seen.”
“Did he, mamma?” And the girl clung closer to her mother as she heard the pleasant words.
“But I oughtn’t to tell you such nonsense as that; and then he said that he wanted to come out here and see you, and—and—and—; it is simply this, that he meant to ask you to be his sweetheart, if I would let him.”
“And what did you say, mamma?”
“I couldn’t say anything because you came back.”
“But you told Dolly that you would be glad to see him whenever he might choose to come here.”
“Did I?”
“Yes; you said he was welcome to come whenever he pleased, and that you believed him to be a very good young man.”
“And so I do. Why should he be anything else?”
“I don’t say that he’s anything else; but, mamma—”
“Well, my dear.”
“What shall I say to him if he does ask me that question? He has called me by my name two or three times, and spoken to me as though he wanted me to like him. If he does say anything to me like that, what shall I answer?”
“If you think you don’t like him well enough, you must tell him so, of course.”
“Yes, of course I must.” Then Rachel was silent for a minute or two. She had not as yet received the full answer which she desired. In such an alternative as that which her mother had suggested, we may say that she would have known how to frame her answer to the young man without any advice from her mother. But there was another alternative as to which she thought it well that she should have her mother’s judgment and opinion. “But, mamma, I think I do like him,” said Rachel, burying her face.
“I’m sure I don’t wonder at it,” said Mrs. Ray, “for I like him very much. He has a way with him so much nicer than most of the young men now; and then, he’s very well off, which, after all, must count for something. A young woman should never fall in love with a man who can’t earn his bread, not if he was ever so religious or steady. And he’s very good-looking, too. Good looks are only skin-deep I know, and they won’t bring much comfort when sorrow comes; but I do own I love to look on a young fellow with a sonsy face and a quick lively step. Mr. Comfort seemed to think it would do very well if there was to be any such thing; and if he’s not able to tell, I’m sure I don’t know who ought to be. And nothing could be fairer than his coming out here and telling me first. There’s so many of them are sly; but there was nothing sly about that.”
In this way, with many more rambling words, with many kisses also, and with some tears, Rachel Ray received from her mother permission to regard Luke Rowan as her lover.
XIII
Mr. Tappitt in His Countinghouse
Luke Rowan, when he left the cottage, walked quickly back across the green towards Baslehurst. He had sauntered out slowly on his road from the brewery to Bragg’s End, being in doubt as to what he would do when he reached his destination; but there was no longer room for doubt now; he had said that to Rachel’s mother which made any further doubt impossible, and he was resolved that he would ask Rachel to be his wife. He had spoken to Mrs. Ray of his intention in that respect as though he thought that such an offer on his part might probably be rejected, and in so speaking had at the time spoken the truth; but he was eager, sanguine, and self-confident by nature, and though he was by no means disposed to regard himself as a conquering hero by whom any young lady would only be too happy to find herself beloved, he did not at the present moment look forward to his future fate with despair. He walked quickly home along the dusty road, picturing to himself a happy prosperous future in Baslehurst, with Rachel as his wife, and the Tappitts living in some neighbouring villa on an income paid to old Tappitt by him out of the proceeds of the brewery. That was his present solution of the brewery difficulty. Tappitt was growing old, and it might be quite as well not only for himself, but for the cause of humanity in Devonshire, that he should pass the remainder of his life in that dignity
