‘That’s not the way to get round a woman, my lad,’ he remarked. ‘Mrs. F. will just think you be right down silly; the notion o’ tellin’ her as Blue Vinney cheese was richer to the palate than Rammil—why, Rammil’s made altogether o’ good new milk, and this here’s nothin’ but skim. She makes cheese o’ skim instead o’ givin’ it to the pigs, and you go and tell her all that rubbish. She’s no fool—the widow is n’t—that is n’t the way to make up to her.’ Meanwhile Rosalie had driven across the market-place and up a side street to the house of a certain auctioneer, and to her great joy found him at home. He was a stout middle-aged man, with some pretensions to good looks, and more to being a dandy. He was attired in a sporting costume of quite correct cut, and received his visitor with an air of jovial hospitality. ‘Delighted to see you, I’m sure, Mrs. Fiander. I feel _h_onoured. I am at your service for anything you may wish—you may command me, ma’am.’ Rosalie had begun by expressing a desire to transact a little business with him, and now proceeded to explain its nature. ‘I wish to sell my pigs by auction,’ she said. ‘I have about sixty-five to dispose of, and I should like the sale to take place as early as possible next week.’ ‘Next week!’ ejaculated the auctioneer, his face falling. ‘Yes,’ said Rosalie, with great decision. ‘But—have you considered the question? It would be difficult to sell off such a number of pigs at any season of the year, but now—in the height of the summer! If I may advise you, Mrs. Fiander, don’t be in such a hurry. Wait and sell the pigs at a more convenient time. Nobody’s killing pigs now, and most people as go in for fatting pigs have got as many as they want by this time.’ ‘It must be next week,’ said the widow obstinately. Job and Abel were leaving on the Saturday, and the stock must be got rid of before the new era began. ‘You’ll lose to a certainty, ma’am,’ said Mr. Wilson, running his hand through his well-oiled hair. ‘What with all the regulations on account of the swine fever, the selling of such a number of pigs would be a difficult matter—at any season, as I say, and you don’t give me no time scarcely to get out my bills—’ ‘The sale must take place before Saturday week,’ insisted Rosalie. ‘You must do the best you can for me, Mr. Wilson.’ ‘You may rely on that, Mrs. Fiander; but it really grieves me to think that you should lose so much.’ He paused, thoughtfully biting the end of one finger, and suffering his eyes meanwhile to travel slowly over the handsome face and graceful figure of his client. During this scrutiny he was not unobservant of the rich materials of which her dress was composed, and her general appearance of mournful prosperity.