"Everybody's selfish. I dare say when the news of the rise reaches us presently, you'll think better of him." Then Stockman called Lawrence and Susan fell back to the horseman. "He wants to tell Maynard about some ideas he's got, and it will distract his mind to do so," she explained. "Be master under the weather about Mr. Withycombe, or is he only pretending?" asked Thomas bluntly. "He's a very feeling creature is father," answered the woman. "He didn't care much for poor Mr. Withycombe, and Mr. Withycombe never quite saw father's good points, like most of the people do; but father's down-daunted to-day. 'Tis a landmark gone; and death's death; and he's fearful that another old person here and there may be took presently, along of the cruel cold in the churchyard." "The wind curdled down off the Beacon like knives," admitted Palk. "Mrs. Honeysett kept her face very steady." "She did. But she's a brave creature." "She've got the cottage for her life, however." "Yes. Squire's left it to her for naught, so long as she likes to bide there." "A deep thought--how long she will bide there." "Yes, it is. Jerry will be gone, come presently; but she'll have a neighbour. There's a widow man and his daughter took the cottage--the haunted house that joins hers. He's a new gardener to Buckland Court and don't fear ghosts." "So I heard tell." They were silent and then Thomas, now on very friendly terms with Susan, asked a question. "Will it make a difference to Mr. Stockman, Mrs. Honeysett being set free of her father, miss?" "I couldn't tell you, Tom. I've axed myself that question. But I'm not in father's thoughts." His caution made him hesitate to speak again, but he knew that another question would go no farther than his listener. "And if I may venture to put it, would you like to see him wed, miss?" Susan slowed her steps that no sound of their voices might reach Joe. Her eyes were on his back as she answered. "Yes, I think I would. A wife would add to his peace and comfort." "She might add to yours." "She might; but I'm not troubling as to that. Still, if she was a nice woman, I dare say she would." "A wife--nice or otherwise--would open your father's eyes," declared Thomas. "In all respect I say it; but where you be concerned, he's got to make such a habit of you, and got to take you so terrible much like he takes his breakfast, or his boots, or any other item of his life, that it would be a very good thing for his character if he found out what you was." "He don't undervalue me I hope," answered Susan. "Because a man don't say much, it don't follow he don't feel much, Thomas."