"Yes, but you wouldn't have me lusting after the flesh. I that found the Lord years ago and kept Him ever since. I that showed fruits of the Spirit before any of the chaps in the village. I that scat up two apple orchards so as they shouldn't go to make cider and drunkenness. You wouldn't have me live all my life in whorage of thoughts." "Who cares what you do?" said Jenny, getting bored under this weight of verbiage. "I don't want to marry." "I've been too quick," said Trewhella. "I've been led away by my preacher's tongue. But you'll see me there in front of 'ee to-night," he almost shouted. "You'll see me there gazing at 'ee, and I don't belong to be bested by nothing. Maid nor bullock. Good night, Miss Raeburn, I'll be looking after William John." "Good night," said Jenny pleasantly, relieved by his departure. "I'll see you in front, then." She thought as she said this how utterly inappropriate Trewhella and Corin would look in the stalls of the Orient. She fancied how the girls would laugh and ask in the wings what those strange figures could be. It was lucky none of them were aware they lodged in Hagworth Street. What a terrible thing it would be if it leaked out that such unnatural-looking men, with such a funny way of talking, lodged at Jenny Pearl's. The thought of the revelation made her blush. Yet Corin had not seemed extraordinary before the arrival of his friend. It was Trewhella who had infected them both with strangeness. He had an intensity, a dignity that made him difficult to subdue with flippancy. He never seemed to laugh at her retorts, and yet underneath that ragged mustache he seemed to be smiling to himself all the time. And what terrible hands he had. More like animals than hands. When Jenny caught his eye glinting down in the stalls, she wished she were playing anything but an Ephesian flute-girl, for Ephesian flute-girls, owning a happier climate, dressed very lightly. "He sat there looking me through and through," she told May, "till I nearly run off to the side. He stared at me just like our cat stares at the canary in the window next door." "It's not a canary," May corrected. "It's a goldfinch." "Now don't be silly, and shut up, you and your goldfinches. Who cares if it's a parrot? You know what I mean. Tell me what I'm to do about Borneo Bill." May began to laugh. "Well, he is. He's like the song." On the next day Mr. Corin interviewed Jenny about the prospects of his friend's suit. "You know, Miss Raeburn, he's very serious about it, is Zack. He's accounted quite a rich man down west. 'Tis his own farm freehold--and he's asked Mr. Raeburn's permission." "Well, that wins it!" Jenny proclaimed. "Asked my father's permission? What for? What's it got to do with him who I marry? Thanks, I marry who I please. What a liberty!" Mr. Corin looked apologetic. "I only told you that so as you shouldn't think there was anything funny about it. I never saw a man so dead in earnest, and he's a religious man, too."