smile. "Well, I believe I'm reckoned to be," she remarked modestly; "theer's nought else i' this world as I care for mich, but I'm wonderful fond o' cleanin' and scrubbing', an' I've allus said I'd sooner do things for mysel' nor let onybody do it for me." Ted sighed and cast up his eyes. "It seems a pity, Miss Heptonstall, as it's only yoursel' ye're doin' it for—" "Why so?" interrupted Margaret snappishly. "Well, it seems sich terrible waste, ye know. It seems a pity ye shouldn't be doin' for soombry else at th' same time." "I dunnot want to do for nobry, nobbut mysel'," returned Margaret with a toss of her head. "Did ye think I'd be for takkin' lodgers at this time o' day?" she added suspiciously. "Nay, nay, I'll noan ha' strangers here, botherin' an' messin' about." "Eh, I wasn't thinkin' o' strangers," explained Wharton, hitching his chair a little nearer. "I were jest wonderin' to mysel', seein' you're so manageable an' clever an' that, as you hadn't never thought o' gettin' wed an' doin' for a husband as well as yoursel'. I raly do wonder, Miss Heptonstall," he repeated insinuatingly, "as ye haven't getten wed." He expected Margaret to be surprised and flattered, but she gave no indication of being either the one or the other. She fixed her steely blue eyes sternly on the visitor, and inquired stiffly what he thought she wanted a husband for, and what use he reckoned sich-like 'ud be to her. Ted edged his chair yet a little nearer, and thrust forward his face till it was within a yard of Margaret's. "A good husband 'ud be a great comfort to ye, Miss Heptonstall," he urged. "He'd—he'd love ye, ye know"—(hesitating)—"an' work for ye." This last was said with more assurance. Margaret appeared unconvinced. "Eh, he'd be more bother than he was worth," she remarked trenchantly. "Think 'o th' litter alone he'd mak' coomin' in an' out o' th' house. It's bad enough to be cleanin' up arter th' cats an' the dog—poor dumb things, they knows no better! But a mon stumpin' in an' out wi's dirty boots, an' clooes as 'ud allus want mendin', an' stockin's weerin' at th' 'eel! Eh, theer'd be no end to 't! An' then th' doin' for; gettin's mate an' that—turnin' up 's nose very
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