"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 though 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."
"Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives.
We know about all that," said Mr. Granger sententiously.
His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it
indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
"Mr. Granger," he said, seizing his hand, "I want to make Beatrice my
wife--I do indeed."
"Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies."
"If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters
and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a settlement
as any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a father, and I
shall raise no difficulties.
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