Lydia put down her book, looked up at him, saw what was coming, looked down again to hide a spasm of terror, and said, with a steady severity that cost her a great effort, “I hope you have not quarrelled.” “Lord bless you, no! We kissed one another like turtle-doves. At odd moments she wheedles me into feeling fond of her in spite of myself. She went away because I asked her to.” “And why do you ask my guests to go away?” “Because I wanted to be alone with you. Don’t look as if you didn’t understand. She’s told me a whole heap of things about myself that alter our affairs completely. My birth is all right; I’m heir to a county family that came over with the Conqueror, and I shall have a decent income. I can afford to give away weight to old Webber now.” “Well,” said Lydia, sternly. “Well,” said Cashel, unabashed, “the only use of all that to me is that I may marry if I like. No more fighting or teaching now.” “And when you are married, will you be as tender to your wife as you are to your mother?” Cashel’s elation vanished. “I knew you’d think that,” he said. “I am always the same with her; I can’t help it. She makes me look like a fool, or like a brute. Have I ever been so with you?” “Yes,” said Lydia. “Except,” she added, “that you have never shown absolute dislike to me.” “Ah! EXCEPT! That’s a very big except. But I don’t dislike her. Blood is thicker than water, and I have a softness for her; only I won’t put up with her nonsense. But it’s different with you. I don’t know how to say it; I’m not good at sentiment--not that there’s any sentiment about it. At least, I don’t mean that; but--You’re fond of me in a sort of way, ain’t you?” “Yes; I’m fond of you in a sort of way.” “Well, then,” he said, uneasily, “won’t you marry me? I’m not such a fool as you think; and you’ll like me better after a while.” Lydia became very pale. “Have you considered,” she said, “that henceforth you will be an idle man, and that I shall always be a busy woman, preoccupied with the work that may seem very dull to you?” “I won’t be idle. There’s lots of things I can do besides boxing. We’ll get on together, never fear. People that are fond of one another never have any difficulty; and people that hate each other never have any comfort. I’ll be on the lookout to make you happy. You needn’t fear my interrupting your Latin and Greek: I won’t expect you to give up your whole life to me. Why should I? There’s reason in everything. So long as you are mine, and nobody else’s, I’ll be content. And I’ll be yours and nobody else’s. What’s the use of supposing half a dozen accidents that may never happen? Let’s sign reasonable articles, and then take our chance. You have too much good-nature ever to be nasty.” “It would be a hard bargain,” she said, doubtfully; “for you would have to give up your occupation; and I should give up nothing but my unfruitful liberty.”