It must not be supposed that Cheesacre ever believed him. In the first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a man to be believed in any way. Had he not been living on lies for the last ten years? But then a man may lie in such a way as to deceive, though no one believe him. Mr. Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt while Captain Bellfield occupied his lodgings in Norwich. He fee'd Jeannette liberally. He even fee'd Charlie Fairstairs,--Miss Fairstairs I mean,--with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might know whether that kite fluttered about his dovecoat, and of what nature were the flutterings. He went even further than this, and fee'd the Captain himself,--binding him down not to flutter as value given in return for such fees. He attempted even to fee the widow,--cautioning her against the fluttering, as he tendered to her, on his knees, a brooch as big as a breast-plate. She waved aside the breast-plate, declaring that the mourning ring which contained poor Greenow's final grey lock of hair, was the last article from a jeweller's shop which should ever find a place about her person. At the same time she declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to her; Mr. Cheesacre need have no fears in that quarter. But then, she added, neither was he to have any hope. Her affections were all buried under the cold sod. This was harassing. Nevertheless, though no absolute satisfaction was to be attained in the wooing of Mrs. Greenow, there was a pleasantness in the occupation which ought to have reconciled her suitors to their destiny. With most ladies, when a gentleman has been on his knees before one of them in the morning, with outspoken protestations of love, with clearly defined proffers of marriage, with a minute inventory of the offerer's worldly wealth,--down even to the "mahogany-furnitured" bed-chambers, as was the case with Mr. Cheesacre, and when all these overtures have been peremptorily declined,--a gentleman in such a case, I say, would generally feel some awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady at the close of such a performance. But with Mrs. Greenow there was no such awkwardness. After an hour's work of the nature above described she would play the hostess with a genial hospitality, that eased off all the annoyance of disappointment; and then at the end of the evening, she would accept a squeeze of the hand, a good, palpable, long-protracted squeeze, with that sort of "don't;--have done now," by which Irish young ladies allure their lovers. Mr. Cheesacre, on such occasions, would leave the Close, swearing that she should be his on the next market-day,--or at any rate, on the next Saturday. Then, on the Monday, tidings would reach him that Bellfield had passed all Sunday afternoon with his lady-love,--Bellfield, to whom he had lent five pounds on purpose that he might be enabled to spend that very Sunday with some officers of the Suffolk volunteers at Ipswich. And hearing this, he would walk out among those rich heaps, at the back of his farmyard, uttering deep curses against the falsehood of men and the fickleness of women.

It must not be supposed that Cheesacre ever believed him. In the first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a man to be believed. Had he not been living on lies for the last ten years? But Mr. Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt. He paid Jeannette liberally. He even paid Charlie Fairstairs with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might know whether that hawk fluttered about his dovecote. He went further, and paid the Captain himself, making him promise not to flutter in return for money. He even attempted to pay the widow - cautioning her against the fluttering, as he offered her, on his knees, a brooch as big as a plate.
She waved the brooch aside, declaring that her mourning ring was the only jewellery she would ever wear. She also declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to her; Mr. Cheesacre need have no fears. But, she added, neither was he to have any hope. Her affections were all buried under the cold earth.
This was harassing. Nevertheless, though they could get no satisfaction in wooing Mrs. Greenow, the pleasantness of the occupation ought to have reconciled her suitors to their destiny. When a gentleman has been on his knees before a lady, and has been peremptorily refused, he would generally feel some awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady afterwards. But with Mrs. Greenow there was no such awkwardness. She would play the hostess with a genial hospitality, and at the end of the evening she would accept a good long squeeze of the hand.
Mr. Cheesacre, on such occasions, would leave the Close swearing that she should be his on the next market-day. Then, on the Monday, news would reach him that Bellfield had passed all Sunday afternoon with his lady-love - Bellfield, to whom he had lent five pounds to spend that very Sunday with some officers at Ipswich.
