“But it ain’t all,” answered Mary.  “Why, he offered me his brains to help out mine, and his strong right arm for me to lean upon!  And he swears to goodness that he never offered marriage before—­because he never found the woman worthy of it—­and so on; and all to me!  Me—­a spinster from my youth up and never a thought of a man!  And now, of course, I’ll be a laughing-stock to Dartymoor, and a figure of fun for every thoughtless fool to snigger at.”

“You couldn’t help his doing it,” I said. “’Tis a free country.”

“And more could he help it, seemingly,” she answered.  “Any way he swore he was driven to speak.  In fact he have had the thing in his prayers for a fortnight.  ’Tis a most ondacent, plaguey prank for love to play; for surely at our time of life, we ought to be dead to such things?”

“A man’s never dead to such things—­especially a man that’s been a soldier, or a sailor,” I told my sister; and Susan said the same, and assured Mary that there was nothing whatever ondacent to it, silly though it might be.

Then Mary fired up in her turn and said there wasn’t nothing whatever silly to it that she could see.  In fact quite the contrary, and she dared Susan to use the word about her, or Mr. Battle either.  And she rattled on in her violent and excited way and was on the verge of the hystericals now and again.  And for my life I couldn’t tell if she was pleased as Punch about it, or in a proper tearing rage.  I don’t think she knew herself how she felt.

We poured some sloe gin into her and calmed her down, and then my eldest son took her home; and when he came back, he said that Bob Battle had gone to bed.

“I looked in where he sleeps,” said my son, “and Bob was in his shirt, quite calm and composed, saying his prayers.”

“Trust him for being calm and composed,” I said.  “None ever saw him otherwise.  He’s a ruler of men for certain, but whether he’s a ruler of women remains to be seen—­for that’s a higher branch of larning, as we all know.”

Next day I went over and had a tell with Bob, and he said it weren’t so much my business as I appeared to think.

“There’s no doubt it flurried us both a lot,” he told me.  “To you, as an old married man, ’tis nothing; but for us, bachelor and spinster as we are, it was a great adventure.  But these things will out and I’m sorry she took it so much to heart.  ’Twas the surprise, I reckon—­and me green at the game.  However, she’ll get over it—­give her time.”

He didn’t offer no apology nor nothing like that.

“Well,” I said—­in two minds what to say—­“she’ve made it clear what her feelings were, so I’ll ask you not to let it occur again.”

“She made it clear her feelings were very much upheaved,” answered Bob; “but she didn’t make it clear what her feelings were; because she didn’t say ‘yes’ and she didn’t say ‘no.’”

“You don’t understand nothing about women,” I replied to him, “so you can take it from me that ’tis no good trying no more.  She’s far too old in her own opinion.  In a word you shocked her.  She was shaking like an aspen leaf when she ran over to me.”