Her print gown was much the same as those worn by other country maids, and yet its effect how vastly different! How graciously it flowed, now hiding, now half-revealing her shapeliness; how cunningly it clung to pliant waist and full, rounded bosom. Her jetty curls were ’prisoned in a small, laced cap; in her hand she bore a deep-brimmed straw hat. And thus, as she gazed up at the old cross, Sir John gazed down on her, marvelling anew and happy in his wonderment. Now as my lady stood viewing the ancient cross, there chanced by a country damsel with a large basket upon her arm—a shapely young girl with a remarkably trim foot and ankle. “Pray, my dear,” says my lady, waving her hat towards the old cross, “what strange thing is this?” “O mam,” answers Rusticity, blushing and curtsying, “it be only the ol’ market cross as arl strangers do come to stare at.” “Then,” says my lady, smiling, “they might do better by staring at thee, for thou’rt monstrous pretty.” “O mam!” falters Rusticity, with another curtsy. “What is thy name, child?” questions my lady. “Ann, if you please, mam—Ann Dumbrell.” “And why d’ye call me ‘mam’?” “Because, mam,” answers Rusticity, blushing again, “because you be so ... so fine, mam, an’ arl!” “Heavens!” exclaims my lady with a pretty petulance, “we must amend this, Ann! For look’ee, child, I be no finer than thyself—just a simple, country maid I be—and solitary. So I’ll walk with thee, Ann, if I may. And my name is Rose.” “Yes, mam.” “Nay, call me ‘Rose.’” “Yes, Rose ... mam.” “May I go with thee awhile, Ann? And don’t say ‘mam’!” “Yes, m—Rose.” “Then I’ll aid thee with thy basket—come!” “Oh no, no—Rose. My ol’ trug be naun heavy, and your ’ands be so—so——” “So what?” “White an’ pretty.” “Tush!” says my lady, scowling at the members in question. “They be very strong hands, child. Come, give me hold o’ thy basket!” And presently from the shadow of his curtain Sir John saw them walk away, the large basket a-swing between them, and they laughing and chatting together gaily. No sooner were they out of sight than Sir John tossed night-cap to ceiling and rang the bell. “Bob,” quoth he as the Corporal appeared, “Bob, why the devil am I not shaved and dressed?” “Your honour’s orders were for your honour not to be disturbed till ten o’clock, and ’tis scarce nine, sir.” “No matter, Bob. Hot water!” “Here, sir.” “Then have at me, Robert—proceed!” “Im-mediate, sir!” And Sir John’s toilet commenced forthwith; during which nice business they conversed as follows: SIR JOHN: Any news, Bob? ROBERT: Nothing to mention, sir ... though I did ’appen to hear that five soldiers and two o’ the coastguard are reported wounded, sir. SIR JOHN: Nothing serious, I hope? ROBERT: We hope not, sir. SIR JOHN: An ugly business, Bob. ROBERT: On-commonly, sir! SIR JOHN: Have you seen or heard anything of Mr. Potter?