“But in the meantime?” said Miss Christie.

“If you are going to say anything that I shall hate to hear,” answered John, half-laughing, “don’t keep me lingering long.  If you mean to leave me, say so at once, and put me out of my misery.”

“Well, well,” said Miss Christie, looking at him with some pleasure, and more admiration, “I’ve been torn in pieces for several weeks past, thinking it over.  Never shall I have my own way again in any man’s house, or woman’s either, as I have had it here.  And the use of the carriage and the top of the pew,” she continued, speaking; to herself as much as to him; “and the keys; and I always knew I was welcome, which is more than being told so.  And I thank ye, John Mortimer, for it all, I do indeed; but if my niece’s daughter is wanting me, what can I do but go to her?”

“It was very base of Emily not to say a word about it,” said John, smiling with as much grimness as utter want of practice, together with the natural cast of his countenance, would admit of.

Miss Christie looked up, and saw with secret joy the face she admired above all others coloured with a sudden flush of most unfeigned vexation.  John gave the footstool before him a little shove of impatience, and it rolled over quite unknown to him, and lighted on Miss Christie’s corns.

She scarcely felt the pain.  It was sweet to be of so much importance.  Two people contending for one lonely, homely old woman.

“Say the word,” she presently said, “and I won’t leave ye.”

“No,” answered John, “you ought to go to Emily.  I had better say instead that I am very sensible of the kindness you have done me in staying so long.”

“But ye won’t be driven to do anything rash?” she answered, observing that he was still a little chafed, and willing to pass the matter off lightly.

“Such as taking to myself the lady up-stairs!” exclaimed John.  “No, but I must part with her; if one of you goes, the other must.”

This was absolutely the first time the matter had even been hinted at between them, and yet Miss Christie’s whole conduct was arranged with reference to it, and John always fully counted on her protective presence.

“Ay, but if I might give myself the liberty of a very old friend,” she answered, straightway taking the ell because he had given her an inch, “there is something I would like to say to ye.”

“What would you like to say?”

“Well, I would like to say that if a man is so more than commonly a fine man, that it’s just a pleasure to set one’s eyes on him, and if he’s well endowed with this world’s gear, it’s a strange thing if there is no excellent, desirable, and altogether sweet young woman ready, and even sighing, for him.”

“Humph!” said John.

“I don’t say there is,” proceeded Miss Christie; “far be it from me.”

“I hate red hair,” answered the attractive widower.