ad been the successes and the failures of Mr Whittlestaff's
life when Mary Lawrie was added as one to his household. The same
idea had occurred to him as to Mrs Baggett. He was not a young man,
because he was fifty; but he was not quite an old man, because he
was only fifty. He had seen Mary Lawrie often enough, and had become
sufficiently well acquainted with her to feel sure that if he could
win her she would be a loving companion for the remainder of his
life. He had turned it all over in his mind, and had been now eager
about it and now bashful. On more than one occasion he had declared
to himself that he would be whipped if he would have anything to
do with her. Should he subject himself again to some such agony of
despair as he had suffered in the matter of Catherine Bailey? It
might not be an agony such as that; but to him to ask and to be
denied would be a terrible pain. And as the girl did receive from
his hands all that she had--her bread and meat, her bed, her very
clothes--would it not be better for her that he should stand to her
in the place of a father than a lover? She might come to accept it
all and not think much of it, if he would take before himself the
guise of an old man. But were he to appear before her as a suitor for
her hand, would she refuse him? Looking forward, he could perceive
that there was room for infinite grief if he should make the attempt
and then things should not go well with him.

But the more he saw of her he was sure also that there was room for
infinite joy. He compared her in his mind to Catherine Bailey, and
could not but feel that in his youth he had been blind and fatuous.
Catherine had been a fair-haired girl, and had now blossomed out
into the anxious mother of ten fair-haired children. The anxiety had
no doubt come from the evil courses of her husband. Had she been
contented to be Mrs Whittlestaff, there might have been no such look
of care, and there might perhaps have been less than ten children;
but she would still have been fair-haired, blowsy, and fat. Mr
Whittlestaff had with infinite trouble found an opportunity of seeing
her and her flock, unseen by them, and a portion of his agony had
subsided. But still there was the fact that she had promised to be
his, and had become a thing sacred in his sight, and had then given
herself up to the arms of Mr Compas. But now if Mary Lawrie would
but accept him, how blessed might be the evening of his life!

He had confessed