“That is true,” she said.  “I didn’t know my luck.”

“I don’t say that.  Any honourable man would have done so much, very likely; but perhaps—­however, I’m not here to praise myself but to praise you; and I may add I never in a large experience saw the woman—­maid, wife or widow—­to hold a candle to you for brains and energy and far-reaching fine qualities in general.  And therefore I never could be worthy of you, and I don’t pretend to it, and the man who did would be a very vain and windy fool; but such is my high opinion and great desire to be your husband that I risk, you may say, everything by offering myself.”

“This is a very great surprise, Job.”

“So great that you must do me one good turn and not answer without letting it sink in, if you please.  I have a right to beg that.  Of course I know on the spur of the moment the really nice-minded woman always turns down the adventurous male.  ’Tis their delicate instinct so to do.  But you won’t do that—­for fairness to me.  And there’s more to it yet, because we’ve got to think of fairness to you also.  I wouldn’t have you buy a pig in a poke and take a man of means without knowing where you stood.  So I may say that if you presently felt the same as I do about it, I should spend a bit of my capital on ‘The Seven Stars,’ which, in my judgment, is now crying for capital expenditure.”

“It is,” admitted Mrs. Northover, “I grant you that.”

“Very well, then.  It would be my pride—­”

He was interrupted, for the bell of the inn rang and a moment later Raymond Ironsyde appeared in the hall.  He had come for supper and bed.

“Good evening, Mrs. Northover,” he said.  “I’m belated and starving into the bargain.  Have you got a room?”

“For that matter, yes,” she answered not very enthusiastically.  “But surely ‘The Tiger’s’ your house, sir?”

“I’m not bound to ‘The Tiger,’ and very likely shall never go there again.  Gurd is getting too big for his shoes and seems to think he’s called upon to preach sermons to his customers, besides doing his duty as a publican.  If I want sermons I can go to church for them, not to an inn.  Give me some supper and a bottle of your best claret.  I’m tired and bothered.”

A customer was a customer and Mrs. Northover had far too much experience to take up the cudgels for her friend over the way.  She guessed pretty accurately at the subject of Richard Gurd’s discourse, yet wondered that he should have spoken.  For her own part, while quite as indignant as others and more sorry than many that this cloud should have darkened a famous local name, she held it no personal business of hers.

“I’ll see what cold meat we’ve got.  Would you like a chicken, sir?”

“No—­beef, and plenty of it.  And let me have a room.”

Job Legg, concealing the mighty matters in his own bosom, soon waited upon Raymond and found him in a sulky humour.  The claret was not to his liking and he ordered spirits.  He began to smoke and drink, and from an unamiable mood soon thawed and became talkative.  He bade Job stay and listen to him.