"And much you cared about it!" answered Gilbert, ill-humoredly, kicking some dead sticks out of his way. "Inquiries! no, of course nothing has come of them, except what we knew before: that she passes as the third daughter, and she is short and dark." Stevens sat down on a green knoll. "What a surpassing clever man you are, Gilbert Irvine!" he observed. "Well, Father Cuthbert, you are uncommon complimentary," remonstrated Gilbert, leaning back against a tree. "Seven mortal weeks have I been cooped up in that dog-hole, with as much to eat as a sparrow, and wearing myself out, dodging about to get a glimpse of this girl--all to please my Lady and you; never slept in a bed except just these four nights we have been at Exeter--and the only reward of my labors which I have seen anything of yet, is to be told I am an ass for my pains: because, of course, that is what you mean." "My excellent Gilbert, your temper is a little below perfection. You shall see what a mistake you have made. Look at me. I have just been dining with Squire Passmore." Gilbert's mouth opened for an exclamation, but shut again without one, as if his astonishment passed the power of words to express. "Now why could not you have done the same? Seven weeks you have been here, as you say, and caught one glimpse of the girl; and I, who have not been here as many days, have already seen and spoken to her, and found out more about her than you have. And I have dined like a prince in addition, while you are pretty near starving, Gilbert." "Nice consolation that is to give to a famished wretch!" snarled Gilbert. "Father Cuthbert, you have a heart of stone." "Not quite so hard as that, my friend," answered Stevens, feeling in his pocket, and bringing out of it the pie. "I only wished to show you what a very ingenious fellow you were. Eat that." "Where did you get it?" was all the thanks Gilbert vouchsafed. "It was offered me, and I accepted it," said Stevens. "I never say 'No, thank you!' to anything good. Always take all you can get, Gilbert." Gilbert was too busy with the pie to answer. "Now listen, Gilbert. I was wise enough to take no notice of the girl that any could see: but I studied her quietly, and I sounded the youngest brother well. I am satisfied that none of them know who she is, and I imagine only the parents know any thing at all. She seems very comfortable, and well taken care of, and will probably be in no haste to leave; at least so I judge from what I can see of her disposition, which is quiet and timid. Then"-- "Father Cuthbert, I wish you would wait a minute. ''Tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting.' Do let me finish this pie in peace." "Finish it, Gilbert, and much good may it do you." "But how did you get in?" was the question that followed the last mouthful of the pie. "I represented myself as an artist, in the employ of Sir Godfrey Kneller "-- "Did you ever see him?"