“You are very kind, Mr. Juxon.  But there is nothing the matter—­I have a headache.”

“Oh,” said the squire, “I beg your pardon.”  He looked away and seemed embarrassed.

“You have done too much already,” said Mrs. Goddard, fearing that she had not sufficiently acknowledged his offer of assistance.

“I cannot do too much.  That is impossible,” he said in a tone of conviction.  “I have very few friends, Mrs. Goddard, and I like to think that you are one of the best of them.”

“I am sure—­I don’t know what to say, Mr. Juxon,” she answered, somewhat startled by the directness of his speech.  “I am sure you have always been most kind, and I hope you do not think me ungrateful.”

“I?  You?  No—­dear me, please never mention it!  The fact is, Mrs. Goddard—­” he stopped and smoothed Ms hair.  “What particularly disagreeable weather,” he remarked irrelevantly, looking out of the window at the driving sleet.

Mrs. Goddard looked down and slowly stirred her tea.  She was pale and her hand trembled a little, but no one could have guessed that she was suffering any strong emotion.  Mr. Juxon looked towards the window, and the grey light of the winter’s afternoon fell coldly upon his square sunburned face and carefully trimmed beard.  He was silent for a moment, and then, still looking away from his companion, he continued in a less hesitating tone.

“The fact is, I have been thinking a great deal of late,” he said, “and it has struck me that your friendship has grown to be the most important thing in my life.”  He paused again and turned his hat round upon his knee.  Still Mrs. Goddard said nothing, and as he did not look at her he did not perceive that she was unnaturally agitated.

“I have told you what my life has been,” he continued presently.  “I have been a sailor.  I made a little money.  I finally inherited my uncle’s estate here.  I will tell you anything else you would like to ask—­I don’t think I ever did anything to conceal.  I am forty-two years old.  I have about five thousand a year and I am naturally economical.  I would like to make you a proposal—­a very respectful proposal, Mrs. Goddard—­”

Mrs. Goddard uttered a faint exclamation of surprise and fell back in her chair, staring with wide eyes at the squire, her cheeks very pale and her lips white.  He was too much absorbed in what he was saying to notice the short smothered ejaculation, and he was too much embarrassed to look at her.

“Mrs. Goddard,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “will you marry me?”