"I do not know about fancying; but I think it will be better for me to remain as I am. I would do anything for you and Sarah, almost anything; but I cannot do that." "Then I will say nothing further." "Don't ask me to do that." And he did not ask her again, but turned his face from her and thought of the bitterness of his death-bed. That evening, when she went down to tea, she met Samuel Rubb standing at the drawing-room door. "There is no one here," he said; "will you mind coming in? Has your brother spoken to you?" She had followed him into the room, and he had closed the door as he asked the question. "Yes, he has spoken to me." She could see that the man was trembling with anxiety and eagerness, and she almost loved him that he was anxious and eager. Mr Maguire, when he had come a wooing, had not done it badly altogether, but there had not been so much reality as there was about Sam Rubb while he stood there shaking, and fearing, and hoping. "Well," said he, "may I hope--may I think it will be so? may I ask you to be mine?" He was handsome in her eyes, though perhaps, delicate reader, he would not have been handsome in yours. She knew that he was not a gentleman; but what did that matter? Neither was her sister-in-law Sarah a lady. There was not much in that house in Gower Street that was after the manner of gentlemen and ladies. She was ready to throw all that to the dogs, and would have done so but for Mr Maguire. She felt that she would like to have allowed herself to love him in spite of the tearing of the verses. She felt this, and was very angry with Mr Maguire. But the facts were stern, and there was no hope for her. "Mr Rubb," she said, "there can be nothing of that kind." "Can't there really, now?" said he. She assured him in her strongest language, that there could be nothing of that kind, and then went down to the dining-room. He did not venture to follow her, but made his way out of the house without seeing anyone else.