And--and if you’ll marry me, Rhoda, I’ll try with all my strength to be worthy of such a wife. Oh, Rhoda, don’t say ’no.’" She only understood a part, and the tone of his voice spoke and soothed her to patience, though his words left her cold. She perceived that he was deeply in love with her and had hidden it carefully from her. That he had hidden it was a grace in him: she thanked him for that. His excuse for the past did not impress her. All that remained was to refuse him and leave him as swiftly as possible. She did not feel very flattered or elated. She did not like him any better for this avowal. The master-sense in her mind was one of frank discomfort. She felt not particularly sorry that she had to disappoint him; she experienced only a desire for haste--to speak and end this unsought scene and get out of his sight. She wasted no words. "’Tis kind, no doubt, to offer marriage," she said, "but you’re wrong. Us wouldn’t suit each other. You’ll find a girl to please you better than me. Ban’t no use talking about it. I don’t feel--I don’t feel drawed, Mr. Crocker, and I suppose unless both parties be drawed ’tis no use hoping for a happy marriage." "Think of it--take a bit of time. ’Tis mere moonshine the likes of you going single, Rhoda." "I’ve seen marriage under my eyes ever since I could mark anything," she answered. "I’ve seen it and still see it." She stopped and shook her head, implying that as yet the state offered no large charm for her. "Good-bye. Think no more of this--and no more will I." She left him, and he sat down where a sluice opened off the leat, so that the overflow in time of torrent might do no hurt to the banks. He sat and regretted what he believed to be his precipitation. The time was not ripe. He had sprung this proposal too suddenly upon her. For her own sake he had not played the lover as a preliminary, and as a result she failed to recognise the lover in him. He had erred in tactics. He was not much downcast, but felt that the opening battle was well ended, with a defeat that he foresaw. He had explained the kiss, and this interview was thereby justified. It would not be necessary to retrace that old ground again. And yet he doubted whether Rhoda had quite understood him. "If she did understand, she didn’t believe," he told himself. He was not ill-pleased with the encounter. He had fired the first shot and engaged her in the first skirmish. He must tell Margaret all that had happened, and he must hear from Margaret if any results of this adventure were displayed by Rhoda. He felt pretty certain that none would be. David she might confide in, but not in Margaret. The interview as a whole did not dismay him, and it was not until he reached home and heard an unfavourable report of his mother’s health that he became gloomy.