"Very pretty--very pretty indeed!" he mildly observed, eyeing her as she stood at bay barricaded by the roses. "Quite a picture! There, there! do not be frightened,--such shyness is very natural! We will embrace in the Lord another day! In the meantime one little word--the word--will suffice me,--yea, even one little smile,--to show me that you understand my words,--that you love me"--here he clasped his plump hands together in flabby ecstasy--"even as you are loved!"
His absurd attitude,--the weak, knock-kneed manner in which his clumsy legs seemed, from the force of sheer sentiment, to bend under his weighty body, and the inanely amatory expression of his puffy countenance, would have excited most women to laughter,--and Thelma was perfectly conscious of his utterly ridiculous appearance, but she was too thoroughly indignant to take the matter in a humorous light.
"Love you!" she exclaimed, with a movement of irrepressible loathing. "You must be mad! I would rather die than marry you!"
Mr. Dyceworthy's face grew livid and his little eyes sparkled vindictively,--but he restrained his inward rage, and merely smiled, rubbing his hands softly one against the other.
"Let us be calm!" he said soothingly. "Whatever we do, let us be calm! Let us not provoke one another to wrath! Above all things, let us, in a spirit of charity and patience, reason out this matter without undue excitement. My ears have most painfully heard your last words, which, taken literally, might mean that you reject my honorable offer. The question is, do they mean this? I cannot,--I will not believe that you would foolishly stand in the way of your own salvation,"--and he shook his head with doleful gentleness. "Moreover, Fröken Thelma, though it sorely distresses me to speak of it,--it is my duty, as a minister of the Lord, to remind you that an honest marriage,--a marriage of virtue and respectability such as I propose, is the only way to restore your reputation,--which, alas! is sorely damaged, and--"
Mr. Dyceworthy stopped abruptly, a little alarmed, as she suddenly cast aside the barrier of roses and advanced toward him, her blue eyes blazing.
"My reputation!" she said haughtily. "Who speaks of it?"
"Oh dear, dear me!" moaned the minister pathetically. "Sad! . . . very sad to see so ungovernable a temper, so wild and untrained a disposition! Alas, alas! how frail we are without the Lord's support,--without the strong staff of the Lord's mercy to lean upon! Not I, my poor child, not I, but the whole village speaks of you; to you the ignorant people attribute all the sundry evils that of late have fallen sorely upon them,--bad harvests, ill-luck with the fishing, poverty, sickness,"--here Mr. Dyceworthy pressed the tips of his fingers delicately together, and looked at her with a benevolent compassion,--"and they call it witchcraft,--yes! strange, very strange! But so it is,--ignorant as they are, such ignorance is not easily enlightened,--and though I," he sighed, "have done my poor best to disabuse their minds of the suspicions against you, I find it is a matter in which I, though a humble mouthpiece of the Gospel, am powerless--quite powerless!"