The Greatest Thrillers of Fergus Hume. Fergus Hume

his clasp. ‘There’s no time for anything of that sort, my dear,’ said she sharply; ‘we’ve got to talk business, you and I, we have.’

      ‘Business! About our engagement?’

      ‘You’ve hit it, Gabriel; that’s the business I wish to understand. How long is this sort of thing going on?’

      ‘What sort of thing?’

      ‘Now, don’t pretend to misunderstand me,’ cried Bell, with acerbity, ‘or you and I shall fall out of the cart. What sort of thing indeed! Why, my engagement to you being kept secret; your pretending to visit mother when it’s me you want; my being obliged to hide the ring you gave me from father’s eyes; that’s the sort of thing, Mr Gabriel Pendle.’

      ‘I know it is a painful position, dearest, but—’

      ‘Painful position!’ echoed the girl, contemptuously. ‘Oh, I don’t care two straws about the painful position. It’s the danger I’m thinking about.’

      ‘Danger! What do you mean? Danger from whom?’

      ‘From Mrs Pansey; from Mr Cargrim. She guesses a lot and he knows more than is good for either you or I. I don’t want to lose my character.’

      ‘Bell! no one dare say a word against your character.’

      ‘I should think not,’ retorted Miss Mosk, firing up. ‘I’d have the law on them if they did. I can look after myself, I hope, and there’s no man I know likely to get the better of me. I don’t say I’m an aristocrat, Gabriel, but I’m an honest girl, and as good a lady as any of them. I’ll make you a first-class wife in spite of my bringing up.’

      Gabriel kissed her. ‘My darling Bell, you are the sweetest and cleverest woman in the world. You know how I adore you.’

      Bell knew very well, for she was sharp enough to distinguish between genuine and spurious affection. Strange as it may appear, the refined and educated young clergyman was deeply in love with this handsome, bold woman of the people. Some lovers of flowers prefer full blown-roses, ripe and red, to the most exquisite buds. Gabriel’s tastes were the same, and he admired the florid beauty of Bell with all the ardour of his young and impetuous heart. He was blind to her liking for incongruous colours in dress: he was deaf to her bold expressions and defects in grammar. What lured him was her ripe, rich, exuberant beauty; what charmed him was the flash of her white teeth and the brilliancy of her eyes when she smiled; what dominated him was her strong will and practical way of looking on worldly affairs. Opposite natures are often attracted to one another by the very fact that they are so undeniably unlike, and the very characteristics in Bell which pleased Gabriel were those which he lacked himself.

      Undoubtedly he loved her, but, it may be asked, did she love him? and that is the more difficult question to answer. Candidly speaking, Bell had an affection for Gabriel. She liked his good looks, his refined voice, his very weakness of character was not unpleasing to her. But she did not love him sufficiently to marry him for himself alone. What she wished to marry was the gentleman, the clergyman, the son of the Bishop of Beorminster, and unless Gabriel could give her all the pleasures and delights attendant on his worldly position, she was not prepared to become Mrs Gabriel Pendle. It was to make this clear to him, to clinch the bargain, to show that she was willing to barter her milkmaid beauty and strong common sense for his position and possible money, that she had come to see him. Not being bemused with love, Bell Mosk was thoroughly practical, and so spoke very much to the point. Never was there so prosaic an interview.

      ‘Well, it just comes to this,’ she said determinedly, ‘I’m not going to be kept in the background serving out beer any longer. If I am worth marrying I am worth acknowledging, and that’s just what you’ve got to do, Gabriel.’

      ‘But my father!’ faltered Gabriel, nervously, for he saw in a flash the difficulties of his position.

      ‘What about your father? He can’t eat me, can he?’

      ‘He can cut me off with a shilling, my dear. And that’s just what he will do if he knows I’m engaged to you. Surely, Bell, with your strong common sense, you can see that for yourself!’

      ‘Of course I see it,’ retorted Bell, sharply, for the speech was not flattering to her vanity; ‘all the same, something must be done.’

      ‘We must wait.’

      ‘I’m sick of waiting.’

      Gabriel rose to his feet and began to pace to and fro. ‘You cannot desire our marriage more than I do,’ he said fondly. ‘I wish to make you my wife in as public a manner as possible. But you know I have only a small income as a curate, and you would not wish us to begin life on a pittance.’

      ‘I should think not. I’ve had enough of cutting and contriving. But how do you intend to get enough for us to marry on?’

      ‘My father has promised me the rectorship of Heathcroft. The present incumbent is old and cannot possibly live long.’

      ‘I believe he’ll live on just to spite us,’ grumbled Bell. ‘How much is the living worth?’

      ‘Six hundred a year; there is also the rectory, you know.’

      ‘Well, I daresay we can manage on that, Gabriel. Perhaps, after all, it will be best to wait, but I don’t like it.’

      ‘Neither do I, my dear. If you like, I’ll tell my father and marry you to-morrow.’

      ‘Then you would lose Heathcroft.’

      ‘It’s extremely probable I would,’ replied Gabriel, dryly.

      ‘In that case we’ll wait,’ said Bell, springing up briskly. ‘I don’t suppose that old man is immortal, and I’m willing to stick to you for another twelve months.’

      ‘Bell! I thought you loved me sufficiently to accept any position.’

      ‘I do love you, Gabriel, but I’m not a fool, and I’m not cut out for a poor man’s wife. I’ve had quite enough of being a poor man’s daughter. When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window. That’s as true as true. No! we’ll wait till the old rector dies, but if he lasts longer than twelve months, I’ll lose heart and have to look about me for another husband in my own rank of life.’

      ‘Bell,’ said Gabriel, in a pained voice, ‘you are cruel!’

      ‘Rubbish!’ replied the practical barmaid, ‘I’m sensible. Now, come and see mother.’