He had deemed these things the outward indication of absolute womanly perfection. His young imagination, fired by the unexpected meeting with Rosalie, and further stimulated by his uncle’s chance remarks, had created a marvellous romance before Isaac had pronounced the name of his own future bride. Now the golden glow had vanished, all was flat, and dull, and grey; and, what was worse, he knew his ideal to have been delusive. Young bloom and beauty and fascination meant nothing—Rosalie Fiander was a calculating, mercenary woman, devoid even of feminine reticence. Not content with ‘setting her cap’—odious phrase!—at the man whom she considered best likely to protect her interests, she had actually offered herself to him, haggled over the prospective bargain, weighed with him the gains which must accrue to both. When she was little more than a child she had angled for old Elias Fiander. Well, she was homeless and penniless then, and might from her extreme youth be supposed to know no better, but now in the ripeness of her womanhood, with wealth, liberty, all that she could desire, at her command, she must needs sell herself again! Pah! such a nature must positively be depraved. With an impetuous movement he held the paper over the candle, but as suddenly snatched it away again, extinguishing the flame with his finger and thumb, and rubbing the burnt edge ruefully: ‘This at least is a thing of beauty,’ he said; ‘why destroy it?’ Then, hastily restoring the print to its wrapper and thrusting it into his pocket again, he muttered: ‘I wish I had never seen her.’ CHAPTER III Butter? rolls o’t! Cream? why, bowls o’t! WILLIAM BARNES. Come, come away, Or let me go; Must I here stay? * * * Troth, lady, no! HERRICK. ISAAC was somewhat disappointed at his nephew’s lack of enthusiasm over a project which had at first seemed to take his fancy so much. Talk as he might about Richard’s future, and his own desire that he should pass the remainder of his days on the Down Farm, he could extract nothing from the young man but vague expressions of gratitude, and a doubtful promise to think the matter over. ‘I’m goin’ up yonder to Fiander’s,’ remarked Isaac, after breakfast; ‘there’s a little matter there as I must see to. Ye mid as well step up along wi’ me, Richard.’ ‘I was thinking of taking a stroll round this place,’ rejoined Richard. ‘Why, what’s all your hurry? Ye may as well wait till I am ready to go wi’ ye. I’ll not be above two or three minutes at Littlecomb, and then we mid walk round together. Besides, ye’ll be wantin’ to pay your respects to Mrs. Fiander, won’t ye, arter drivin’ her from Dorchester yesterday—and her that’s goin’ to be your aunt?’