She stopped and laughed, then drank.  Presently setting down the glass again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him to say what he might have to say and be quick about it.  He fired a little at this invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast a nervous glance or two at the window.  But nobody appeared; no thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned over the geraniums.  Gaffer indeed was sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one of those seats set in the open air for the pleasure and convenience of wayfarers about the village.  So Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon Mrs. Coomstock sat, plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his arm round the wide central circumference of her person.  She suffered this courageous attempt without objection.  Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.

“Say the word and do a wise thing,” he urged.  “Say the word, Mary, an’ think o’ me here as master, a-keeping all your damn relations off by word of command.”

She laughed.

“When I be gone you’ll see some sour looks, I reckon.”

“Nothing doan’t matter then; ’t is while you ’m here I’d protect ’e ’gainst ’em.  Look, see! ban’t often I goes down on my knees, ’cause a man risin’ in years, same as me, can pray to God more dignified sittin’; but now I will.”  He slid gingerly down, and only a tremor showed the stab his gallantry cost him.

“You ’m a masterful auld shaver, sure ’nough!” said Mrs. Coomstock, regarding Billy with a look half fish like, half affectionate.

“Rise me up, then,” he said.  “Rise me up, an’ do it quick.  If you love me, as I see you do by the faace of you, rise me up, Mary, an’ say the word wance for all time.  I’ll be a gude husband to ‘e an’ you’ll bless the day you took me, though I sez it as shouldn’t.”

She allowed her fat left hand, with the late Mr. Coomstock’s wedding-ring almost buried in her third finger, to remain with Billy’s; and by the aid of it and the sofa he now got on his legs again.  Then he sat down beside her once more and courageously set his yellow muzzle against her red cheek.  The widow remained passive under this caress, and Mr. Blee, having kissed her thrice, rubbed his mouth and spoke.

“Theer!  ‘T is signed and sealed, an’ I’ll have no drawin’ back now.”

“But—­but—­Lezzard, Billy.  I do like ’e—­I caan’t hide it from ’e, try as I will—­but him—­”

“I knawed he was t’other.  I tell you, forget un.  His marryin’ days be awver.  Dammy, the man’s ‘most chuckle headed wi’ age!  Let un go his way an’ say his prayers ‘gainst the trump o’ God.  An’ it’ll take un his time to pass Peter when all ’s done—­a bad auld chap in his day.  Not that I’d soil your ears with it.”

“He said much the same ’bout you.  When you was at Drewsteignton, twenty year agone—­”

“A lie—­a wicked, strammin’, gert lie, with no more truth to it than a auld song!  He ’m a venomous beast to call home such a thing arter all these years.”