The next instant he was fierce again.

“An’ look yo’ ‘ere, Mr. Cartaret.  It was yo’ who aassked mae t’ marry Assy.  Do yo’ aassk mae t’ marry Assy now?  Naw!  Assy may rot for all yo’ care. (It’s all right, my sweet’eart.  It’s all right.) I’d a married Assy right enoof ef I’d ‘a’ looved her.  But do yo’ suppawss I’d ‘a’ doon it fer yore meddlin’?  Naw!  An’ yo’ need n’ aassk mae t’ marry yore daughter—­(There—­there—­my awn laass)—­”

“You are not going to be asked,” said Gwenda.  “You are not going to marry her.”

“Gwenda,” said the Vicar, “you will be good enough to leave this to me.”

“It can’t be left to anybody but Ally.”

“It s’all be laft to her,” said Greatorex.

He had loosened his hold of Alice, but he still stood between her and her father.

“It’s for her t’ saay ef she’ll ’aave mae.”

“She has said she won’t, Mr. Greatorex.”

“Ay, she’s said it to mae, woonce.  But I rackon she’ll ’ave mae now.”

“Not even now.”

“She’s toald yo’?”

He did not meet her eyes.

“Yes.”

“She’s toald yo’ she’s afraid o’ mae?”

“Yes.  And you know why.”

“Ay.  I knaw.  Yo’re afraid o’ mae, Ally, because yo’ve ’eard I haven’t always been as sober as I might bae; but yo’re nat ‘aalf as afraid o’ mae, droonk or sober, as yo’ are of yore awn faather.  Yo’ dawn’t think I s’all bae ’aalf as ‘ard an’ crooil to yo’ as yore faather is.  She doosn’t, Mr. Cartaret, an’ thot’s Gawd’s truth.”

“I protest,” said the Vicar.

“Yo’ stond baack, sir.  It’s for ‘er t’ saay.”

He turned to her, infinitely reverent, infinitely tender.

“Will yo’ staay with ‘im?  Or will yo’ coom with mae?”

“I’ll come with you.”

With one shoulder turned to her father, she cowered to her lover’s breast.

“Ay, an’ yo’ need n’ be afraaid I’ll not bae sober.  I’ll bae sober enoof now.  D’ye ‘ear, Mr. Cartaret?  Yo’ need n’ bae afraaid, either.  I’ll kape sober.  I’d kape sober all my life ef it was awnly t’ spite yo’.  An’ I’ll maake ’er ‘appy.  For I rackon theer’s noothin’ I could think on would spite yo’ moor.  Yo’ want mae t’ marry ‘er t’ poonish ’er. I knaw.”

“That’ll do, Greatorex,” said Rowcliffe.

“Ay.  It’ll do,” said Greatorex with a grin of satisfaction.

He turned to Alice, the triumph still flaming in his face.  “Yo’re nat afraaid of mae?”

“No,” she said gently.  “Not now.”

“Yo navver were,” said Greatorex; and he laughed.

That laugh was more than Mr. Cartaret could bear.  He thrust out his face toward Greatorex.

Rowcliffe, watching them, saw that he trembled and that the thrust-out, furious face was flushed deeply on the left side.

The Vicar boomed.

“You will leave my house this instant, Mr. Greatorex.  And you will never come into it again.”