“Please, ma’am,” said Martha—­who had plucked at his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he had been speaking—­“don’t mind him, he’ll come to; ’twas only last night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all the more because I said I could not think of it for years to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about wanting a lodger.”  (Another great nudge.)

“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us—­otherwise I’ve no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the house,” said Jem, with a want of tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if she would only come and live with them.

Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha’s sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart.  Miss Matty began —

“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.”

“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem.  “Not that I’ve no objections to Martha.”

“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when I would be married,” said Martha—­her face all a-fire, and ready to cry with vexation—­“and now you’re shaming me before my missus and all.”

“Nay, now!  Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! only a man likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess himself of her hand, but in vain.  Then seeing that she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound to respect every one who has been kind to Martha.  I always looked on her as to be my wife—­some time; and she has often and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d honour us by living with us, I’m sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I’d keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.”

Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, “Don’t let any thought of me hurry you into marriage:  pray don’t.  Marriage is such a very solemn thing!”

“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” said I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering about it.  “And I’m sure neither she nor I can ever forget your kindness; nor your’s either, Jem.”

“Why, yes, ma’am!  I’m sure I mean kindly, though I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t express myself conformable.  But I’m sure I’m willing enough, and give me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, what’s the use of crying so, and slapping me if I come near?”