My Cousin Tom began to speak:  but I prevented him.

“One moment,” I said, “and you shall say what you will.  There is one reason that comes to my mind which perhaps may explain her unwillingness; and that is that she may think that she is being thrown at my head.  You have been very kind, Cousin, in allowing me to make this my home in the country; and I know”—­(here I lied vehemently)—­“I know that nothing was further from your thoughts than this.  Yet it may seem so, to a foolish maid who knows nothing of the world.  I do not know if you have ever said anything to her—­”

“Why, Cousin—­” cried Tom, in such a manner that I knew he was lying too—­“what do you think—­”

“Just so,” I said; for I did not wish him to lie more than he need; “I was sure—­”

“I may have said a word or two, once or twice,” pursued Cousin Tom, intent on his own exposure—­“that she must think soon about getting married, and so forth.  But to say that I have thrown her at your head, Cousin, is not, I think, a kindly thing—­”

“My dear man!” cried I.  “I have been saying expressly that I knew you had done nothing of the sort; but that perhaps Dolly thought so.” (This quieted him a little, for I watched his face.) “So the best way, I think, is for us all to be quiet for a little and say nothing.  You know now what my own wishes are; and that is enough for you and me.  As to estates, I will make a settlement, if ever the marriage is arranged, that will satisfy you; but I think we need not trouble about that at present.  I will do my utmost to push my suit; but it must be in my own way; and that way will be to say nothing at all for a while, but to establish easy relations with her.  She is a little perturbed at present:  I saw that, for I watched her to-night; and unless she can grow quiet again, all will come to nothing.”

So I spoke, in the folly of my own wisdom that seemed to me so great at that time.  I had dealt with men, but not at all with women, and knew nothing of them.  If I had but followed my heart and spoken to her at once, while the warmth of my welcome, and the memory of the peril we had undergone together were still in heart, matters might have been very different.  But I thought otherwise, and that I would be very prudent and circumspect, knowing nothing at all of a maid’s heart and her ways.  As for Cousin Tom, he had to yield to me; for what else could he do?  The prospect that I opened before him was a better one than he could get anywhere else:  he had no opening at Court, in spite of his bragging; and the Protestants round about were too wise, in their rustic way, to engage themselves with a Papist at such a time.  So there the matter remained.

* * * * *