“And you’ve as many quirks as—as a hunted hare. There’s no holding you! My father would ha’ locked you up with bread and water till you did what you were told, and my mother’d ha’ boxed your ears till she put some sense into you. But we’re a d—d silly generation. We’re too soft!” She minded this little, as long as he did not put her to the supreme test; as long as he did not ask her if there was anyone else, any other lover. But his mind was now busy with Arthur. Was it true that the young spark was thinking more of Garth than of the girl? More of the heiress than of the sweetheart? More of lucre than of love? If so, d—n his impudence! He deserved what he had got! From which point it was but a step to thoughts of the bank. Ay, Arthur was certainly one who had his plans for getting on, and getting on in ways to which no Griffin had stooped before. Was this of a piece with them? The doubt had a cooling effect upon him. While Josina trembled lest the fateful question should still be put, and clenched her little hands as she summoned up fortitude to meet it—while she tried to still the fluttering of her heart, the old man relapsed into thought, muttered inarticulately, fell silent. She would have given much to know the direction of his thoughts. At last, “Well, you’re so clever you must settle your own affairs,” he grumbled. “I’m d—d if I understand either of you, girl or man. In my time if a wench said No, we took her and hugged her till she said Yes! We didn’t go to her father. But since the old king died there’s no red blood in the country—it’s all telling and no kissing. There, I’ve done with it. Maybe when he turns his back on you, you’ll be wanting him fast enough.” “No, sir, never!” she answered, overwhelmed by a victory so complete. “Anyway, don’t come fretting to me if you do! Your aunt told me that you were pining for him, but I’m hanged if she knows more than I do—or happen you don’t know your own mind. Now look out, and tell me if they’ve finished thatching that wagoner’s cottage at the Bache?” “Yes, sir. I can see the new straw from here,” she said. “Have they brought it down over the eaves?” “I’m afraid I can’t see that. It’s too far.” “Mind me to ask Fewtrell. Now get me home. Where’s your arm? I’ll go down through the new planting.” “But it’s not so safe, sir,” she remonstrated. “There’s the stone stile, and——” “When I canna get over the stone stile I’ll not come up the hill. I want to see the planting. D’you take me that way and tell me if the rabbits ha’ got in. March, girl!”