ouldn't say I was manly."

"I'm quite sure of that."

"I have my faults, I'm aware."

"And what are your faults, Mr Cheesacre?"

"Well; perhaps I'm extravagant. But it's only in these kind of
things you know, when I spend a little money for the sake of making
my friends happy. When I'm about, on the lands at home, I ain't
extravagant, I can tell you."

"Extravagance is a great vice."

"Oh, I ain't extravagant in that sense;--not a bit in the world. But
when a man's enamoured, and perhaps looking out for a wife, he does
like to be a little free, you know."

"And are you looking out for a wife, Mr Cheesacre?"

"If I told you I suppose you'd only laugh at me."

"No; indeed I would not. I am not given to joking when any one that I
regard speaks to me seriously."

"Ain't you though? I'm so glad of that. When one has really got a
serious thing to say, one doesn't like to have fun poked at one."

"And, besides, how could I laugh at marriages, seeing how happy I
have been in that condition?--so--very--happy," and Mrs Greenow put
up her handkerchief to her eyes.

"So happy that you'll try it again some day; won't you?"

"Never, Mr Cheesacre; never. Is that the way you talk of serious
things without joking? Anything like love--love of that sort--is
over for me. It lies buried under the sod with my poor dear departed
saint."

"But, Mrs Greenow,"--and Cheesacre, as he prepared to argue the
question with her, got nearer to her in the corner behind the
table,--"But, Mrs Greenow, care killed a cat, you know."

"And sometimes I think that care will kill me."

"No, by George; not if I can prevent it."

"You're very kind, Mr Cheesacre; but there's no preventing such care
as mine."

"Isn't there though? I'll tell you what, Mrs Greenow; I'm in earnest,
I am indeed. If you'll inquire, you'll find there isn't a fellow in
Norfolk pays his way better than I do, or is better able to do it. I
don't pay a sixpence of rent, and I sit upon seven hundred acres of
as good land as there is in the county. There's not an acre that
won't do me a bullock and a half. Just put that and that together,
and see what it comes to. And, mind you, some of these fellows that
farm their own land are worse off than if they'd rent to pay. They've
borrowed so much to carry on with, that the interest is more than
rent. I don't owe a sixpence to ere a man or ere a company in the
world. I can walk into every bank in Norwich without seeing my
maste