’If I know Alice, she will not wait lunch!  And anyway there are things more important than lunch.  May I take it for granted, Miss Bremerton, that you have not been altogether dissatisfied with your life here during this six months?’

Elizabeth looked him gravely in the face.  It was clear there was to be no escape.

’How could I have been, Mr. Mannering?  You have taught me a great, great deal—­and given me wonderful opportunities.’

The Squire nodded, with a look of satisfaction.

’I meant to.  Of course Chicksands would say that it was only my own laziness—­that I have given you the work I ought to have done myself.  My reply would be that it was not my work.  If a man happens to be born to a job he is not in the least fitted for, that’s the affair of Providence.  Providence bungled it when he, she, or it—­take which pronoun you like—­[Greek:  tyche], as you and I know, is feminine—­made me a landowner.  My proper job was to dig up and decipher what is left of the Greeks.  And if any one says that the two jobs are not tanti, and the landowning job is more important than the other, I disagree with him entirely, and it would be impossible for him to prove it.  But there was a vacuum—­that I quite admit—­and Nature—­or Providence—­disliked it.  So she sent you along, my dear lady!’—­he turned upon her a glowing countenance—­’and you fitted it exactly.  You laid hands on what has proved to be your job, and Chicksands, I expect, has been telling you how marvellously you’re doing it, and begging you not to let this duffer’—­the Squire pointed to his leather waistcoat—­’get hold of it again.  Hasn’t he?’

He smiled triumphantly, as Elizabeth’s sudden flush showed that his shaft had hit.  But he would not let her speak.

’No—­please don’t interrupt me!  Of course Chicksands took that view.  Any sensible man would—­not that Henry is really a sensible man.  Well, now, then—­I want to ask you this.  Don’t these facts point to a rather—­remarkable—­combination?  You assist me in the job that I was born for.  I have been fortunate enough to be able to put into your hands the job that you apparently were born for.  And you will forgive me for saying that it might have been difficult for you to find it without my aid.  Nature—­that is—­seems to have endowed you not only with a remarkable head for Greek, but also with the capacity for dealing with the kind of people who drive me distracted—­agents and timber-merchants, and stuck-up county officials, whom I want to slay.  And you combine your job with an idealism—­just as I do mine.  You say “it’s for the country” or “for the army,” as you did just now.  And I scribble and collect—­for art’s sake—­for beauty’s sake—­for the honour of human genius—­what you like!  What then could be more reasonable—­more natural’—­the Squire drew himself up gravely—­’than that you and I should join forces—­permanently?  That I should serve your ideas—­and you should serve mine?’