Deliberately challenged in this way, the formidable James was no more than a sheep to the shearer.  Until he met Helen, he had perhaps never received deliberate, audacious challenges, and even now he was far from being accustomed to them.  So he just stood foolishly near his chair.

“I can’t talk to you while you’re standing up,” she said.

So he sat down.  How simple it ought to have been for him to exert authority over Helen, to tell her fiercely that he had no intention of being talked to like that, and that if she persisted in such tactics the front door was at her entire disposal!  She had no claim on him.  Yet he ate his humble pie and sat down.

“So they are saying that there is something between Emanuel Prockter and me, are they?” she recommenced, in a new, mollified voice, a voice that waved the white flag over her head.

“It wouldna’ surprise me to hear as they were,” said James.

“And supposing there was something between us, uncle, should you mind?”

“I don’t know as I should mind,” said he.  “And I don’t know as it ’ud matter a brass button if I did mind.”

“What should you do, uncle?”

“I should do as I’ve always done,” said he; “eat and sleep and take my walks abroad.  Them as wants to marry will marry, and they will marry what suits ’em.  But I shall tak’ my meat and drink as usual.”

“Would you come to the wedding?”

“I’ve only got a funeral suit,” said he.  “But I’d buy me some togs if Emanuel ‘ud tak’ this place off my hands at what I gave.”

“Would you give me a wedding-present?”

“I’d give thee some advice.  It’s what thou’rt most in need of.”

His tone was gloomy and resigned.

She slipped round the table and sat on the arm of his chair.

“You are a horrid old thing,” she told him—­not for the first time.  “I am in need of advice.  And there’s no one can give it me but you.”

“Nay, nay!” he recoiled.  “There’s Sarah Swetnam.  You’re as thick as thieves.”

“She’s the very last person I can go to,” said Helen.

“And why?”

“Why!  Because Andrew is engaged to her sister, of course.  That’s the awful part of it.”

“Ay?” he questioned.

“Yes.  Because, you see, it’s Andrew Dean that I’m in love with.”

She said it in very pert and airy accents.  And then the next moment she put James into terrible consternation by crying, and clutching his arm.  He saw that she was serious.  Light beat down upon him.  He had to blink and collect himself.

“I’ thy place, lass,” he said, “I should keep that to mysen.”

“But I can’t, uncle.  That is, I haven’t done.  Andrew knows.  You don’t understand how much I’m in love with him.  I’ve—­he’s—­”

“Thou’st not kissed him?”

“Not exactly—­but—­”

“He’s been kissing you in mistake for his other young woman?”