‘Not with Sally—­to marry her?’ said Darton, feeling something like a rill of ice water between his shoulders.

’Yes, by the help of Providence and my personal charms.  And I think I shall get her.  I am this road every week—­my present dairy is only four miles off, you know, and I see her through the window.  ’Tis rather odd that I was going to speak practical to-night to her for the first time.  You’ve just called?’

‘Yes, for a short while.  But she didn’t say a word about you.’

’A good sign, a good sign.  Now that decides me.  I’ll swing the mallet and get her answer this very night as I planned.’

A few more remarks, and Darton, wishing his friend joy of Sally in a slightly hollow tone of jocularity, bade him good-bye.  Johns promised to write particulars, and ascended, and was lost in the shade of the house and tree.  A rectangle of light appeared when Johns was admitted, and all was dark again.

‘Happy Japheth!’ said Darton.  ‘This then is the explanation!’

He determined to return home that night.  In a quarter of an hour he passed out of the village, and the next day went about his swede-lifting and storing as if nothing had occurred.

He waited and waited to hear from Johns whether the wedding-day was fixed:  but no letter came.  He learnt not a single particular till, meeting Johns one day at a horse-auction, Darton exclaimed genially—­rather more genially than he felt—­’When is the joyful day to be?’

To his great surprise a reciprocity of gladness was not conspicuous in Johns.  ‘Not at all,’ he said, in a very subdued tone. ’’Tis a bad job; she won’t have me.’

Darton held his breath till he said with treacherous solicitude, ’Try again—­’tis coyness.’

‘O no,’ said Johns decisively.  ’There’s been none of that.  We talked it over dozens of times in the most fair and square way.  She tells me plainly, I don’t suit her.  ’Twould be simply annoying her to ask her again.  Ah, Charles, you threw a prize away when you let her slip five years ago.’

‘I did—­I did,’ said Darton.

He returned from that auction with a new set of feelings in play.  He had certainly made a surprising mistake in thinking Johns his successful rival.  It really seemed as if he might hope for Sally after all.

This time, being rather pressed by business, Darton had recourse to pen-and-ink, and wrote her as manly and straightforward a proposal as any woman could wish to receive.  The reply came promptly:-

’Dear Mr. Darton,—­I am as sensible as any woman can be of the goodness that leads you to make me this offer a second time.  Better women than I would be proud of the honour, for when I read your nice long speeches on mangold-wurzel, and such like topics, at the Casterbridge Farmers’ Club, I do feel it an honour, I assure you.  But my answer is just the same as before.  I will not try to explain what, in truth, I cannot explain—­my reasons; I will simply say that I must decline to be married to you.  With good wishes as in former times, I am, your faithful friend,

   ‘Sally hall.’