She was asked, in fact, to become his slave--his bailiff and secretary for life--and the price was offered.
Her face spoke for her, before she could express her feeling in words.

The Squire, watching her, hurriedly resumed.
'I put it like an idiot! What I meant was this.

If I could induce you to marry me--and put up with me--I believe both our lives might be much more interesting and agreeable!' The intensity of the demand expressed in his pale hazel eyes and frowning brow struck full upon her.
But Elizabeth slowly shook her head.
'I am very grateful to you, Mr.Mannering, but'-- a rather ironical smile showed itself--'I think you hardly understand me.

We should never get on.' 'Why ?' 'Because our temperaments--our characters--are so different.' 'You can't forgive me about the war ?' 'Well, that hurts me,' she said, after a moment, 'but I leave that to Mr.Desmond.

No! I am thinking of myself and you.