“More ways of killing a cat than drowning it, eh? That’s it, is it? Haven’t spoken, but let her know? And you want my leave?” “Yes, sir, to ask her to be my wife,” Arthur said frankly. “It has been my wish for some time, but I have hesitated. Of course, I am no great match for her, but I am of her blood, and——” He paused. He did not know what to add, and the Squire did not help him, and for the first time Arthur felt a pang of uneasiness. This was not lessened when the old man asked, “How long has this been going on, eh?” “Oh, for a long time, sir—on my side,” Arthur answered. There was an ominous silence. The Squire might be taking it well or ill—it was impossible to judge. He had not changed his attitude and still sat, leaning forward, his hands on his stick, impenetrable behind his bandages. It struck Arthur that he might have been premature; that he might have put his favor to too high a test. It might have been wiser to work upon Josina, and wait and see how things turned out. At last. “She’ll not go out of this house,” the Squire said. And he sighed in a way unusual with him, even when he had been at his worst. “That’s understood. There’s room for you here, and any brats you may have. That’s understood, eh?” sharply. “Willingly, sir,” Arthur answered. A great weight had been lifted from him. “And you’ll take her name, do you hear?” “Of course, sir. I shall be proud to do so.” The Squire sighed, and again he was silent. “Then—then I may speak to her, sir?” “Wait a bit! Wait a bit!” The Squire had more to say, it appeared. “You’ll leave the bank, of course?” Arthur’s mind, trained to calculation, reviewed the position. Most heartily he wished—though he thought that Ovington’s views were unnecessarily dark—that he could leave the bank. But he could not. The moment when Ovington might have released him, when the cancellation of the articles had been possible, was past. The banker could no longer afford to cancel them, or to lose the five thousand pounds that Arthur had brought in. He hesitated, and the old man read his hesitation, and was wroth. “You heard what I said?” he growled, and he struck his stick upon the floor. “Do you think I am going to have my daughter’s husband counterskipping in Aldersbury? Cheek by jowl with every grocer and linen-draper in the town? Bad enough as it is, bad enough, but when you’re Jos’s husband—no, by G—d, that’s flat! You’ll leave the bank, and you’ll leave it at once, or you’re no son-in-law for me. I’ll not have the name of Griffin dragged in the dirt.”