"Leave that. I'm talking of Jacob and saying how glad I am that he never cared for the wenches who put their pleasure first. My son has had nothing to do with women, and you may say, till your Margery won his heart with her beauty and simple, fine nature and, of course, her worship of the dog kind--for dogs draw folk together in a way no other beasts can--till then, Jacob's been heart-whole and come to thirty-five without knowing the meaning of love. So it's all poured out for Margery; and that's why I'm telling you I feel it a great blessing she's one of the self-contained, sober sort--not a gadabout or hungry for admiration. For if she had been, my son wouldn't have liked it. His admiration she'll get and keep for ever; but, if I know anything, I should say he might be a jealous man and greedy as the grave in that direction." "I don't quarrel with that," answered Margery's mother. "Jealousy--so to call it--ought to be there in reason. But no sane woman seeks to provoke it. He'll have no cause for that, and I hope my daughter won't neither." They talked amicably and found themselves in agreement, allowing for the difference of their outlook and convictions. Judith perceived that Mrs. Bullstone was honestly and deeply attached to her daughter, and her study of Jacob led her to hope that he might furnish the strength and force of character she held Margery to lack. Yet, within this hour, a thing had much disquieted her. It was not very great in itself, but argued faults in a vital direction--so Judith feared. The men called them out, and together all visited the kennels and listened to Jacob expatiate on the subject of his Irish terriers. Neither Barlow nor his wife liked dogs, but they were patient under the ordeal. Presently they walked beside the river and, after an early tea, the Huxams started to return home. Mr. Bullstone offered to drive them, but Mrs. Huxam declined and held the exercise would do her husband good. Margery and Jacob accompanied them as far as Shipley Bridge; then they parted, and while the lovers loitered by the river, Margery's family proceeded homeward. Judith preserved silence and her husband respected it. She had not spoken so much for a long time. They walked through the gracious evening light now roseal on the fields and hedges. The slow miles passed and still Mrs. Huxam spoke not. Then Barlow lifted his voice as Brent appeared beneath them, stretched like a grey cobweb on the green vale. "All gone off very nice and pleasant--eh? You've seen and heard nought that wasn't convenient, Judy?" "I've heard nothing, allowing for the difference between our clear sight and the cloudy view of other Christians," she answered. "Nothing I've heard, but something I've seen that was very ill-convenient indeed, and I'm sorry I did see it." "Dear me--I'm sorry, too, then," answered he. "Nothing as can't be righted, I hope?"