"Certainly you may say so, and I'm very well content as you've been to the trouble to mark the colour of my eyes. 'Tis a way women have. They always know the colour of their friends' eyes. And if my face be honest in your opinion, that's good news also. And as for your eyes, if they was in a prettier setting, they'd well become it." Susan grew a dusky red, but kept to the point. "If you can say such things as that, surely you can tell me why you're going?" "I meddled--I--but leave the subject. 'Tis all dust and ashes afore what's stirring in my head now--now I know why I meddled. You'd like me to bide at Falcon Farm seemingly?" "I should then. You've got nice ways, and--and you've always been amazing pitiful to me." "Where would your father be if you left him?" "I'll never leave him. He knows that." "How old might you be?" "Thirty-five--thirty-six come October." "Some say port-wine marks are handed down, and again some say they are not. And if you was to hand it down, you'd hand down what's better too, I shouldn't wonder." She did not answer, but gasped and stared in front of her. "Look here," he said. "Now I see so plain why for I done this, why the mischief shouldn't you? 'Twas done because I've risen up into loving you, Susan! I want you--I want to marry you--I'll take my dying oath I do. It have just come over me like a flap of lightning. Oh, hell!" The bottle of wine had trembled dangerously in Soosie-Toosie's arm before; now it dropped, broke on a stone, and spread its contents at their feet. The sweet air suddenly reeked of it. But Susan ignored the catastrophe. "Me! Me! My God, you must be mad!" "If so, then there's a lot to be said for being mad. But I ain't. I see the light. I've been after you a deuce of a time and never grasped hold of it. I didn't think to marry. In fact my mother was the only woman I ever cared a cuss about till I seed you. And no doubt, for your part you've long despaired of the males; but you'm a born wife, Susan; and you might find me a very useful pattern of husband. I love you something tremenjous, and I should be properly pleased if you could feel the same." "'Tis beyond dreaming," she said regarding him with wild eyes. "'Tis beyond belief, Thomas." "It may be," he admitted, "but not beyond truth. We can make it a cast-iron fact; and 'tis no odds who believes it, so long as it happens." "You be above yourself for the minute. Your face is all alight. Best to think it over and go to church and let a Sunday pass. I can't believe you really and truly mean it." "God's truth I do then." "Father--did I ought to put love of you afore love of him, Thomas?"