That afternoon as Mr. Granger, in a happy frame of mind—for were not his debts paid, and had he not found a most convenient way of providing against future embarrassment?—was engaged peaceably in contemplating his stock over the gate of his little farm buildings, he was much astonished suddenly to discover Owen Davies at his elbow.
“How do you do, Mr. Davies?” he said; “how quietly you must have come.”
“Yes,” answered Owen absently. “The fact is, I have followed you because I want to speak to you alone—quite alone.”
“Indeed, Mr. Davies—well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You don’t look very well.”
“Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there’s nothing wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, I know that full surely.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air, “and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your service, as you know,” he added apologetically.
“This,” he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way that made him start.
“Don’t be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice.”
“Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I admit that the arithmetic——”
“No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don’t wish her to go to the school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I want to marry her.”
The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright? Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be true!
“I am indeed flattered,” he said. “It is more than she could expect—not but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever,” he added hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter’s market value.
“Good-looking—clever; she is an angel,” murmured Owen.
“Oh, yes, of course she is,” said her father, “that is, if a woman—yes, of course—and what is more, I think she’s very fond of you. I think she is pining for you. I’ve thought so for a long time.”
“Is she?” said Owen anxiously. “Then all I have to say is that she takes a very curious way of showing it. She won’t say a word to me; she puts me off on every occasion. But it will be all right now—all right now.”