.'

And there the interview ended.

IV

It became evident that Bertha was likely to have a troublesome time
before her. First of all came John Thistlewood, dogged and resolute as
ever, propping himself against the chimney-piece, flogging his gaitered
legs with the switch he carried, and demanding Ay or No before his time.
Bertha determined to treat him with some spirit.

'You don't need me to tell you that I respect you very highly, Mr.
Thistlewood. But you oughtn't to need me to answer your question any
more. I shall be obliged if you will be so good as not to ask it again.'

'I shall ask it,' said the dogged John, 'till it comes to be answered
one way or another.'

'It has been answered almost often enough to my way of thinking,' said
Bertha.

She had never been tart with Thistlewood until that moment, but he
manifested no surprise or emotion of any kind.

'It never has been answered, an' never will be till I see thee married,
whether to me or another. When that day come to pass you've heard the
last of my question.'

Thus the dogged John; and he being disposed of for a while, came Lane.
To him the persecuted maid was a little less severe than she had been,
but she was inexorable.

'If you like to come here as a friend, Mr. Protheroe, in a few months'
time, I daresay we shall all be very glad to see you.'

'Well,' said Lane, with fine irrelevance, 'as an enemy this is a house
I shall never make a call at. But look at the matter for a minute, my
darling----'

'You must not talk to me like that, Mr. Protheroe,' Bertha said, with
great coldness.

'Like what, my dear?' asked the ingenious Lane.

'Like that, Mr. Protheroe,' replied Bertha.

'I think it so often, that I'm afraid I'm bound to say it sometimes;
but, if it offends, I hope you'll forgive me. You know you _are_ my
darling, don't you? You know there isn't a queen in the world I'd even
with you if every hair of her head was hung with Koh-i-noors. "Out of
the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh," the Wise Man says. So, if
I do let slip "my dear" or "my darling" now and then, you'll know it's
accident, and you won't take offence at it--will you?'

This was agile but unsatisfactory.

'Please understand me, Mr. Protheroe,' said Bertha, with rural dignity;
'you must not come here again until you can come merely as a friend.'

'Bertha! You can't mean it! What have I done? What has changed you?'

'Mr Protheroe!'--the rural dignity made