I never felt so romantic before . Get up , my nag , get up . '' The Tryst of the White Lady `` I wisht ye 'd git married , Roger , '' said Catherine Ames . `` I 'm gitting too old to work -- seventy last April -- and who 's going to look after ye when I 'm gone . Git married , b ` y -- git married . '' Roger Temple winced . His aunt 's harsh , disagreeable voice always jarred horribly on his sensitive nerves . He was fond of her after a fashion , but always that voice made him wonder if there could be anything harder to endure . Then he gave a bitter little laugh . `` Who 'd have me , Aunt Catherine ? '' he asked . Catherine Ames looked at him critically across the supper table . She loved him in her way , with all her heart , but she was not in the least blind to his defects . She did not mince matters with herself or with other people . Roger was a sallow , plain-featured fellow , small and insignificant looking . And , as if this were not bad enough , he walked with a slight limp and had one thin shoulder a little higher than the other -- `` Jarback '' Temple he had been called in school , and the name still clung to him . To be sure , he had very fine grey eyes , but their dreamy brilliance gave his dull face an uncanny look which girls did not like , and so made matters rather worse than better . Of course looks did n't matter so much in the case of a man ; Steve Millar was homely enough , and all marked up with smallpox to boot , yet he had got for wife the prettiest and smartest girl in South Bay . But Steve was rich . Roger was poor and always would be .
He worked his stony little farm , from which his father and grandfather had wrested a fair living , XXXXX a fashion , but Nature had not cut him out for a successful farmer .
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