s. And if any one
says that the two jobs are not _tanti_, and the landowning job is
more important than the other, I disagree with him entirely, and
it would be impossible for him to prove it. But there was a
vacuum--that I quite admit--and Nature--or Providence--disliked
it. So she sent you along, my dear lady!'--he turned upon her a
glowing countenance--'and you fitted it exactly. You laid hands on
what has proved to be your job, and Chicksands, I expect, has been
telling you how marvellously you're doing it, and begging you
not to let this duffer'--the Squire pointed to his leather
waistcoat--'get hold of it again. Hasn't he?'

He smiled triumphantly, as Elizabeth's sudden flush showed that his
shaft had hit. But he would not let her speak.

'No--please don't interrupt me! Of course Chicksands took that view.
Any sensible man would--not that Henry is really a sensible man.
Well, now, then--I want to ask you this. Don't these facts point to
a rather--remarkable--combination? You assist me in the job that I
was born for. I have been fortunate enough to be able to put into
your hands the job that you apparently were born for. And you will
forgive me for saying that it might have been difficult for you to
find it without my aid. Nature--that is--seems to have endowed you
not only with a remarkable head for Greek, but also with the
capacity for dealing with the kind of people who drive me
distracted--agents and timber-merchants, and stuck-up county
officials, whom I want to slay. And you combine your job with an
idealism--just as I do mine. You say "it's for the country" or "for
the army," as you did just now. And I scribble and collect--for
art's sake--for beauty's sake--for the honour of human genius--what
you like! What then could be more reasonable--more natural'--the
Squire drew himself up gravely--'than that you and I should join
forces--permanently? That I should serve your ideas--and you should
serve mine?'

The Squire broke off, observing her. Elizabeth had listened to this
extraordinary speech with growing bewilderment. She had dreaded lest
the Squire--in proposing to marry her--should make love to her. But
the coolness of the bargain actually suggested to her, the apparent
absence from it of any touch of sentiment, took her completely
aback. She was asked, in fact, to become his slave--his bailiff and
secretary for life--and the price was offered.

Her face spoke for her, before she could express her feel