" cried Hazel appealingly.
"I--I cannot bear it."

"No, no; don't go yet, my dear," he cried. "If you only knew what a job
it has been to work myself up to say this, you wouldn't be so hard as to
stop me."

"Hard! Pray don't call it hard, Mr Burge. I grieve to stop you, for
you have been so truly kind to me ever since I came."

"Well, that isn't saying much; my dear. Betsey and me was kind--I say
that ain't right, is it? I know now--Betsey and I was kind because we
always liked you, and I thought it would be so nice if some day or other
you could think me good enough to be your husband."

"Dear Mr Burge, you cut me to the heart, for I seem as if I were so
ungrateful to you after all that you have done."

"Oh, no!" he said quickly; "you're not ungrateful. You're too pretty
and good to do anything unkind."

"Mr Burge!"

"You see, it is like this, my dear. I'm not much of a fellow; I never
was."

"You have been the truest and kindest of friends, Mr Burge; and I
esteem you very much."

"No! Do you, though?" he cried, brightening up and smiling. "Well,
that does me good. I like to hear you say that, because I know you
wouldn't say anything that was not true."

"Indeed, I would not Mr Burge," said Hazel, laying her hand upon his
arm; and he took it quietly, and held it between both of his.

"All the same, though," he went on dolefully, "I am not much of a
fellow, though I've been a very lucky one. I never used to think
anything about the gals--the ladies, and they never took no notice of
me, and I went on making money quite fast. I used to think of how prime
it would be to have a grand house and gardeners down here at Plumton,
and how Betsey would enjoy it; and then what a happy time I should have;
but somehow it hasn't turned out so well as I thought it would. You
see, I've been a butcher--not a killing butcher, you know, but a selling
butcher; and though the gentry's very kind and patronising, and make
speeches and no end of fuss about everything I do or say, I know all the
time that they think I'm a tradesman, and always will be, no matter how
rich I am."

"But I'm sure people esteem you very much, Mr Burge."

"No," he said, shaking his head sadly, "they don't. It's the money they
think of. You esteem me, my dear, because you've just told me so, and
nothing but the truth never came out of those pretty little lips. They
don't think much of me. Why should they, seeing what a common-looking