So she did not wish to hurt him if she could avoid it; still, a proposal of marriage at the age of forty-seven would be rather a feather in her cap, and she was too true a woman to be indifferent to that coveted decoration.

But then, once more, it was quite possible that he would not propose at all.
The next morning Austin put on his straw hat, and went and sat down by the old stone fountain in the full blaze of the sun, as was his custom.

Lubin was somewhere in the shrubbery, and, unaware that anyone was within hearing, was warbling lustily to himself.

Austin immediately pricked up his ears, for he had had no idea that Lubin was a vocalist.

Away he carolled blithely enough, in a rough but not unmusical voice, and Austin was just able to catch some of the words of the quaint old west-country ballad that he was singing.
"Welcome to town, Tom Dove, Tom Dove, The merriest man alive, Thy company still we love, we love, God grant thee still to thrive.
And never will we, depart from thee, For better or worse, my joy! For thou shalt still, have our good will, God's blessing on my sweet boy." "Bravo, Lubin!" cried Austin, clapping his hands.