“How’s that?” he enquired. Hannah was at a loss to answer, and, after a moment’s pause, he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a large hunch of bread and cheese “Best make the most of our time,” he remarked. “We’m ploughin’ to-day. Hain’t you brought your breakfast?” he asked, pausing in the midst of mastication. “I didn’t think about breakfast,” faltered Hannah. “Didn’t ye now?” said Giles. He looked reflectively at his portion, and then, apparently deciding that there was only enough for one, continued to dispose of it, albeit with an uneasy and apologetic air. The silence that ensued was so long that the onlookers began to exchange glances somewhat blankly. It would be dull if Giles merely ate his breakfast while Hannah sat by—that was an everyday occurrence. Presently, however, Hannah took the initiative. “Mr Neale,” she said, “did you want to speak to me?” Giles, with a large lump of bread in his cheek, turned upon her a glance that was half alarmed and half humorous. “Well, I be come,” he said. “B’ain’t that enough? Deeds an’ not words is my motto.” “Well, an’ I be come,” said Hannah, with some spirit. “I be come because I did think ye mid ha’ summat to say to I.” Giles looked at her knowingly, and remarked with a meaning jerk of his head— “I d’ ’low us do understand each other.” Hannah, pleased but still uncertain, laughed feebly, and began to pleat the hem of her immaculate white apron. “I didn’t never expect nobody to be carryin’ on about my bein’ a vitty maid,” she said presently, in a low voice—not so low, however, but that she was overheard by the delighted spies. “No,” agreed Giles heartily. “Ye wouldn’t be like to expect that—no, sure.” Hannah was taken aback for the moment, but remembering Giles’ shyness, thought his unwillingness to pursue the complimentary vein which had so much astonished her in his letter, was due to that, and forebore to be offended. “’Tis true ye must feel yerself by times at a terr’ble loss,” she continued after a pause. Giles reflected— “Well, I haven’t got on so bad so far,” he observed. “Nay, I haven’t got on so bad. But I don’t say—” here he gulped down a huge morsel and his natural timidity at the same time. “But I don’t say as I shouldn’t get on better wi’ a ’ooman to do for me. I don’t say as I shouldn’t. I can’t say no fairer than that.” He paused, and then, with a leer that was distinctly amorous, edged himself a little nearer to her. “Seein’ as some folks as needn’t be mentioned have a-took a fancy to I—” “Lard, Mr Neale,” interrupted Hannah coyly. “Whatever did put sich a notion into your head?” Again Giles fixed his twinkling eyes upon her with a glance that was unutterably knowing, and returned— “Ye wouldn’t be here if ye hadn’t, would ye now?” Hannah gave an assenting giggle, and Giles, after a moment’s hesitation, put his arm round her waist, repeating exultantly: