Anne’s quick comprehension took the situation in at once. She had been shopping, and as she put her parcels on the dresser she gave Madge the benefit of a wordless reproof. She could say a good deal without opening her mouth, and said it. But Madge was not going to be parted from her George without a fight. Sam apart, George was eligible, and Madge saw this as an unique occasion--the occasion for leaving Sam out. At least, she meant to try. George was turned craven at sight of Anne and sidled to the door. “I’ll be getting on home, I think,” he said. “You wait your hurry,” said Madge hardily. “Mother, George has been asking me to wed him.” It was the gage of battle, for Anne knew the fact already. The statement of it was a challenge. She met it coolly. “Has he?” she said. “Well, I hope you told him gently.” And at that George found his second wind of courage, and intervened like a man. “She’s told me nothing with her tongue. Nothing for certain. But a blind man on a galloping horse could read the thoughts of her. Mrs. Branstone, I love that girl as if she’d put a spell on me. It’s the biggest feeling that’s come into my life, and I’m full and bursting with it, or I’d not have the face to expose my inside thoughts to you like this. And if you’ll only tell me I can take her, the Mayor in his carriage won’t be happier than me.” “You know how steady George is, mother,” Madge seconded him. “He needs to be,” said Anne dryly. “He’s a window-cleaner.” “I’m steady by nature, Mrs. Branstone, as well as trade. I don’t drink. Somehow one glass of ale is enough to make me whimsical, so I take none at all. I know I’m being bowdacious in my love, but I’m moved to plead with you. We’d not be standing in Sam’s way. We’d live that quiet and snug you’d never know we’re in the town at all.” Anne looked at him with a faint trace of appreciation drenched in her profound contempt. A poor creature, but he had his thimbleful of spunk! “It would need to be quiet,” she said, “with two to keep on your wage. Are you contented with it?” Disastrously, he was. “It’s a regular job,” he said, voicing his pride at being above the ranks of casual workers. In Anne’s view, a hopeless case. “It’s a regular rotten job,” she retorted, but spoke more softly than her wont. “I’ve Sam to consider, Madge. You might live quiet, but Sam’s brother-in-law has got to make a better show of it than to be seen all over the place at the top of a ladder like a monkey on a stick. I’m not being hard on you, George Chappie, and I’ve nothing against you bar that you’re not good enough. You better yourself and you’ll do. Stay as you are, and Madge’ull do the same.”