"If you wish it--I would rather not," she answered.

Tinman raised his head, as often at Helmstone when some offending
shopwoman was to hear her doom.

He bent to her. "I see. Before your father, then!"

"It isn't an agreeable bit of business, to me," Van Diemen grumbled,
frowning and shrugging.

"I have come, Annette, to ask you, to beg you, entreat--before a third
person--laughing, Philip?"

"The wrong side of my mouth, my friend. And I'll tell you what: we're in
for heavy seas, and I 'm not sorry you've taken the house on the beach
off my hands."

"Pray, Mr. Tinman, speak at once, if you please, and I will do my best.
Papa vexes you."

"No, no," replied Tinman.

He renewed his commencement. Van Diemen interrupted him again.

"Hang your power over me, as you call it. Eh, old Mart? I'm a Deserter.
I'll pay a thousand pounds to the British army, whether they punish me
or not. March me off tomorrow!"

"Papa, you are unjust, unkind." Annette turned to him in tears.

"No, no," said Tinman, "I do not feel it. Your father has misunderstood
me, Annette."

"I am sure he has," she said fervently. "And, Mr. Tinman, I will
faithfully promise that so long as you are good to my dear father, I
will not be untrue to my engagement, only do not wish me to name any
day. We shall be such very good dear friends if you consent to this.
Will you?"

Pausing for a space, the enamoured man unrolled his voice in
lamentation: "Oh! Annette, how long will you keep me?"

"There; you'll set her crying!" said Van Diemen. "Now you can run
upstairs, Netty. By jingo! Mart Tinman, you've got a bass voice for love
affairs."

"Annette," Tinman called to her, and made her turn round as she was
retiring. "I must know the day before the end of winter. Please. In kind
consideration. My arrangements demand it."

"Do let the girl go," said Van Diemen. "Dine with me tonight and I'll
give you a wine to brisk your spirits, old boy."

"Thank you. When I have ordered dinner at home, I----and my wine agrees
with ME," Tinman replied.

"I doubt it."

"You shall not provoke me, Philip."

They parted stiffly.

Mrs. Cavely had unpleasant domestic news to communicate to her brother,
in return for his tale of affliction and wrath. It concerned the
ungrateful conduct of their little housemaid Jane, who, as Mrs. Cavely
said, "egged on by that woman Crickledon," had been hinting at an
advance of wages.

"She didn't dare speak, but I saw what wa