“If you’d believe it,” she was saying shyly, “there were a time when I were nigh to fancyin’ Mr. Hewson myself. Not that there iver were much atween us, and I don’t know as I could say ’e iver come nigh to askin’ me. But ’e were that kind and gentle, I thought as ’e’d make a nice, considerin’ ’usbin’, and I thought I could ha’ got him if I’d tried. But, Lor’, now I know ’e’ve so little sperrit, I don’t think as it’d ha’ suited at all.” “Oh, don’t ye!” retorted Martha, with a good dash of honest viciousness in her tones which the other was too dense or too pre-occupied to notice. “I ain’t got your ’ealth nor yet your managin’ ways, ye see,” Milly was murmuring on softly. “Not but what I do pity you, my dear....” “Well, then, ye needn’t to do no such thing,” interrupted Mrs. Hewson sharply. “My man may be a bit soft o’ times—though ’ow you come to fancy it, I be sure I don’t know—but ’e don’t come masterin’ it over a body, nor yet ’e don’t spend his evenin’s at the ‘Public,’ and leave ’is wife alone at the fire-side. If I was a chatterbox I might ’ave a word to say ’bout bygones too! But, Lor’ bless me, I niver was one to boast! Nor yet to ’anker after showin’ up as I was once nigh upon makin’ a fool o’ myself!” Martha laughed a rough laugh, and the ready eyes of the miller’s wife filled with tears. “My word, I don’t know what ye mean!” faltered she with quivering voice. “But if anybody says as my Dan neglects ’is wife....” “Well, there, least said soonest mended,” put in Martha Hewson hurriedly, for she had seen two dark forms coming up the hill in the moonlight. Her temper had been “up” at the slight which the other, in her foolishness, had dealt to her “man”; and she had not the smallest intention of hearing him made light of, however much she might grind him down herself. But being a good-natured soul at bottom, and not anxious moreover to give herself away, she was not going to have this silly conversation overheard. “I don’t know as it is,” began the foolish little woman, swallowing her tears. “I shall tell Dan what ye said, and....” “If ye do ye’ll ’ave to tell ’im who ’t were said he went to the ‘Public’ every night,” laughed Martha, jeering. But she added quickly: “There, ye mustn’t mind me. I’ve a rough tongue, but I don’t mean no ’arm. We’ve both on us ’ad a gossip and talked a bit o’ nonsense, but there bain’t no bones broke arter all. You dry yer eyes and show your ’usbin’ a jolly face. Look, ere ’e be! I must be gone. I be late as ’tis. We’s off to-morrer, and I’ve got the bits o’ things to put together. Good-night.” Martha had seen that her own husband was with the other, and she did not intend him to come up that garden-path just then if she could help it. “Good-night!” echoed the little woman, who, if none so clever as her friend by a long way, saw the point of what she had said very well. She concealed the signs of her perturbation as she was bid, and held out a meek, limp hand.