“That is true,” sighed Tubb. “But then the money is sure to be raised wherewith to put up the water-wheel and pump. Just consider, ma’am, seven per cent. You’ve not thought of investing, have you, what you got by the sale of Chillacot?” This was a direct question, and the captain was scared at his temerity in putting it. He ate a whole mouthful of his beard. “‘A fool and her money are soon parted,’ says the proverb,” answered Mrs. Saltren. “Consequently, I don’t think I’ll let my money go anywhere without me.” Captain Tubb drew his chair closer; and, instead of settling the matter at once, began a fresh allemand. “What do you think of mutton here in London?” “I don’t relish it; and it is awfully dear, so is beef. Elevenpence and a shilling for what at Orleigh cost eightpence and ninepence. What fortunes them butchers must be making!” “It seems a sin to encourage them,” said Tubb. “It does go against my conscience,” agreed Mrs. Saltren. “Then,” argued the captain, “I wouldn’t encourage them. Twopence and threepence in the pound is too much.” “I’ve a mind to return to the country,” said Mrs. Saltren; “I don’t want to encourage such wickedness.” “And then, ma’am, you can eat the trout fresh.” “Ah, captain! but the capital for pumping?” Then Captain Tubb cautiously slid one arm round Mrs. Saltren’s waist, and said— “Come, Marianne, with your capital, away from the mutton of town to the trout of the country.” “I should like ’em fresh,” said the widow. “We’ll pump together for them.” * * * * * The youthful romance-reader exacts of a novel some love-making, and, to satisfy this reader, I have given this pathetic and romantic scene in full. To this sort of reader, style is nothing, characterisation is nothing, the grammar is nothing—indeed the whole story is nothing if there be in it no love-making. That is the spice which flavours the dish, and without it the dish is rejected as unpalatable. To encourage this reader, accordingly, at the outset a chapter was devoted to love-making in tandem, and another to love-making abreast. Only one of those love-affairs has come to a happy conclusion; one was broken off by the breaking-down of Patience Kite’s chimney. To make up to the reader for her disappointment, I have inserted this other love scene, and have introduced it near the end of my book to stimulate the jaded appetite to finish it. Is it false to nature? Only those will say so who are ignorant of country courtships. Oh, for a Dionysian ear through which to listen to—not the sighs of prisoners, but the coo of turtle-doves! Now it so fell out that the writer of these lines was himself, on one occasion, an eye-and-ear witness to the wooing of a rustic couple—involuntarily. It came about in this way.