“You best know yourself whether you were not.”

“Well,” said Emily, after a pause for reflection, “now you mention it (I never did), I do not see that you could do better.”

“I often think so myself, and that is partly why I am so set against it!  No, Emily, it would be a shame to joke about an excellent and pleasant woman.  The fact is, I have not the remotest intention of ever marrying again at all.”

“Very well,” said Emily, “it is not my affair; it was your own notion entirely that I wanted to help you to a wife.”

And she sat a moment cogitating, and thinking that the lady of the golden head had probably lost her chance by showing too openly that she was ready.

“What are you looking at?” said John.  “At the paths worn in my carpets?  That’s because all the rooms are thoroughfares.  Only fancy any woman marrying a poor fellow whose carpets get into that state every three or four years.”

“Oh,” said Emily, “if that was likely to stand in your light, I could soon show you how to provide a remedy.”

“But my father hates the thoughts of bricks and mortar,” said John, amused at her seriousness, “and I inherit that feeling.”

“John, the north front of your house is very ugly.  You have five French windows on a line—­one in each of these rooms, one in the hall; you would only have to run a narrow passage-like conservatory in front of them, enter it by the hall window, and each room by its own window, put a few plants in the conservatory, and the thing is done in a fortnight.  Every room has its back window; you would get into the back garden as you do now; you need not touch the back of the house, that is all smothered in vines and creepers, as you are smothered in children!”

“The matter shall have my gravest consideration,” said John, “provided you never mention matrimony to me again as long as you live.”

“Very well,” said Emily, “I promise; but there is St. George coming.  I must not forget to tell you that I saw Joseph this morning at a distance; he was standing in the lea of the pigstye, and cogitating in the real moony style.”

“It was about his outfit,” exclaimed John; “depend upon it it was not about Laura.”

And so the colloquy ended, and John walked down his own garden, opened the wicket that led to his gardener’s cottage, and saw Joseph idly picking out a weed here and there, while he watched the bees, some of whom, deluded by the sunshine, had come forth, and were feebly hanging about the opening of the hive.

“Joe,” said John, with perfect decision and directness, “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Joseph was startled at first; but as no more was said, he presently answered, “Well, sir, you and yours have done me so many, that I didn’t ought to hesitate about saying I’ll grant it, whatever it is.”

“If you should think of marrying before you go——­”

“Which I don’t, sir,” interrupted the young man rather hastily.