le colour fluctuating on her cheek,
a tear in her eyes, and some wonder and expectation in her heart.
Perhaps in her youth Miss Wodehouse might have come to such a feminine
crisis before; but if so, it was long ago, and the gentle woman had
never been given to matrimonial speculations, and was as fresh and
inexperienced as any girl. The black frame in which she was set made her
soft colour look fresher and less faded. Her plaintive voice, the
general softness of her demeanour, looked harmonious and suitable to her
circumstances. Mr Proctor, who had by no means fallen in love with her
on account of any remnants of beauty she might possess, had never
admired her so much as he did now; he felt confused, good man, as he
stood before her, and, seeing her so much younger and fairer than his
former idea, began to grow alarmed, and wonder at his serenity. What if
she thought him an old fogey? what if she refused him? This supposition
brought a crimson colour to Mr Proctor's middle-aged countenance, and
was far from restoring his courage. It was a wonderful relief to him
when she, with the instinct of a timid woman, rushed into hasty talk.

"It was very kind of you to come yesterday," she said; "Lucy and I
were very grateful. We have not many relatives, and my dear father--"

"Yes," said the late Rector, again embarrassed by the tears which
choked her voice, "he was very much respected: that must be a
consolation to you. And he had a long life--and--and I suppose, on the
whole, a happy one," said Mr Proctor, "with you and your sister--"

"Oh, Mr Proctor, he had a great deal to put up with," said Miss
Wentworth, through her tears. She had, like most simple people, an
instinctive disinclination to admit that anybody was or had been
happy. It looked like an admission of inferiority. "Mamma's death, and
poor Tom," said the elder sister. As she wiped her eyes, she almost
forgot her own little feminine flutter of expectancy in respect to Mr
Proctor himself. Perhaps it was not going to happen this time, and as
she was pretty well assured that it would happen one day or another,
she was not anxious about it. "If I only knew what to do about Tom,"
she continued, with a vague appeal in her voice.

Mr Proctor got up from his chair and walked to the window. When he
had looked out he came back, rather surprising Miss Wodehouse by
his unlooked-for movements. "I wanted very much to have a little
conversation with you," he said, growing agai