“I haven’t said a word about the shoutin’!” he cried in a vexed tone.  He retraced his steps more quickly, and presently re-entered Margaret’s cottage.

“Miss Heptonstall,” he began, screwing his head insinuatingly round the doorpost.

“Well?” returned Margaret.  She was standing with her back to him, gazing meditatively into the fire.

“I were thinkin’,” continued Wharton, “you an’ me, ye know—­theer isn’t much use in waitin’, is theer?”

Margaret turned and looked at him, but did not speak.

“We met as well let Canon begin o’ shoutin’ us, dunnot ye think?”

Margaret reflected.  “It ‘ud be a pity for ye to gi’ up your house afore th’ end o’ th’ year,” she remarked.  “Th’ agent wouldn’t let ye, would he?  Ye’ll ha’ to gi’ six months’ notice, wunnot ye?  Theer’s time enough as how ’tis.”

Ted bethought him of the cask of beer, and his face fell.  If he was to win his wager the banns must be published before the end of the month, and but ten days of it remained to run.

“Well, I’d as soon as not hurry up things,” he said, screwing a little more of his person on the other side of the door.  “I’m awful tired o’ livin’ by mysel’.  An’ we met let my house an’ turn o’er a bit o’ money that way.  If we was to get wed at once ye’d be havin’ the benefit o’ that as well’s me.  It ’ud be more to our mutual advantage,” delivering this phrase, culled from one of his favourite papers, with great emphasis, “nor for both of us to remain single.  That’s what I think, Miss Heptonstall, but ye mun do as you choose.”

“Well, theer’s summat i’ what ye say,” returned Margaret.  “Happen ‘twould be best to get the job done.  Dear o’ me, it seems sudden like!  I raly never thought o’ changin’ my state.  Once before, ye may ha’ heerd, Mrs. Alty wanted me to wed her Thomas.  I was again it, dreadful again it at first, but hoo persuaded me, so I very nigh gave in.  But him an’ me didn’t agree so well at arter, and Betty didn’t dee, so that settled it.  Well, then, I said to mysel’, ‘It’s all for th’ best,’ an’ I reckoned to bide as I were.  But raly now, as ye’ve coom,” a sudden smile lit up her face, a smile less frosty, less sour, less grim than any that had hitherto found their way there, “I dunno how it is, but I seem to ha’ taken a fancy to ye.  I did fro’ th’ first.  I reckon ye’ll mak’ a good husband.”

Ted left off embracing the lintel of the door and walked straight up to her, quite forgetting to wipe his feet.  His face was very red and his eyes avoided hers; making a sudden dart at her hand, he shook it solemnly.

“I will, Margaret, I will,” he said huskily, “an’ I reckon ye’ll mak’ a good wife—­better nor I deserve.”

In another moment he was gone, walking very rapidly this time, almost running indeed, as though to give himself no time for thought.  When he reached home, he shut the door hastily behind him and sat down on the nearest chair.