“Foxy didn’t like the word ‘sacrifice’ at all, but if ’e’d got to be married ’e’d sooner marry Flora than anybody, and ’e ’ad to put up with it. “‘There’ll be you for one witness,’ he ses to George, ‘and Mrs. Pottle is two; wot about the third?’ “‘I should ’ave ’alf a dozen, so as to make sure,’ ses George. “Foxy thought it was a good idea, and without letting ’em know wot it was for, ’e asked Henery Walker and Joe Chambers, and three or four more ’e ’ad a grudge against for trying to marry ’im to their relations, to come up and see that ’e’d been able to pick and choose. “They came at ha’-past seven, and at eight o’clock there was a knock at the door, and George, arter carefully looking round, let in Mrs. Pottle and Flora. She was a fine-looking gal, and as she stood there looking at all them astonished men, ’er face all blushes and ’er eyes large and shining, Foxy thought getting married wasn’t such a bad thing arter all. He gave ’er a chair to sit on, and then ’e coughed and waited. “‘It’s a fine night,’ he ses, at last. “‘Beautiful,’ ses Mrs. Pottle. “Flora didn’t say anything. She sat there shuffling ’er feet on the carpet, and Foxy Green kept on looking at ’er and waiting for ’er to speak, and ’oping that she wouldn’t grow up like ’er mother. “‘Go on, Flora,’ ses Mrs. Pottle, nudging ’er. “‘Go on, Flora,’ ses Henery Walker, mimicking ’er. ‘I s’pose you’ve come to ask Foxy a question by the look of it?’ “‘Yes,’ ses Flora, looking up. ‘Are you quite well, Mr. Green?’ “‘Yes, yes,’ ses Foxy; ‘but you didn’t come up ’ere to ask me that.’ “‘It’s all I could do to get ’er ’ere at all, Mr. Green,’ says Mrs. Pottle; ‘she’s that shy you can’t think. She’d rather ha’ ’ad you ask ’er yourself.’ “‘That can’t be done,’ ses Foxy, shaking ’is ’ead. ‘Leastways, I’m not going to risk it.’ “‘Now, Flora,’ ses ’er mother, nudging ’er agin. “‘Come on, Flora Pottle,’ ses Bob Hunt; we’re all a-waitin’.’ “‘Shut your eyes and open your mouth, as if Foxy was a powder,’ ses Henery Walker. “‘I can’t,’ ses Flora, turning to her mother. ‘I can’t and I won’t.’ “‘Flora Pottle,’ ses ’er mother, firing up. “‘I won’t,’ ses Flora, firing up too; ‘you’ve been bothering me all day long for ever so long, and I won’t. I ’ate the sight of ’im. He’s the ugliest man in Claybury.’ “Mrs. Pottle began to cry and say that she’d disgraced ’er; but Foxy Green looked at ’er and ’e ses, ‘Very well, Flora Pottle, then we’ll say no more about it. Good evening.’ “‘Good evening,’ ses Mrs. Pottle, getting up and giving Flora a shake. ‘Come along, you tantalising mawther, do. You’ll die an old maid, that’s what you’ll do.’ “‘That’s all you know,’ ses Flora, smiling over at George Smith; ‘but if you’re so fond o’ Mr. Green why don’t you ask ’im yourself? He can’t say “No.”’ “For half a minute the room was as quiet as a grave, and the on’y thing that moved was Foxy Green’s eyes as he looked fust at the door at the other end of the room and then at the window.