“No, he won’t—that would only hit her. He’s got no use for money. He don’t want more than the clothes he stands up in. But it ain’t my business to bother you about what you’re very well equal to manage yourself. I really came for quite a different reason, and that’s the Mill. Bulstrode is going. He can’t stick Ernest Trood, and Trood can’t stick him. It happened yesterday, and in a month from now we must have a new beaterman. You might not have heard that. Not that you’ll come back, of course; but in your wanderings you may have heard of somebody?” “No, I haven’t. I must fix myself up now.” “It’s a thousand pities things are as they are, but if I was you, I’d mark time a little longer, if you can afford to do so. And don’t forget the peas. They ought to be in. You may not be here to eat them; but, on the other hand, you may.” “As to that, how about you?” asked Dingle. “There again, I’m not in a position to close for the house yet.” “If she’s said ‘no,’ she means ‘no,’ Knox. Mrs. Trivett don’t change.” “More don’t the weather-cock, Ned; but the wind does. It all comes back to patience, and, thank God, you and me are both patient and far-sighted men—else we shouldn’t stand so firm on our feet as we do. Now I’ll bid you good-night. And have a talk with Mr. Trenchard one day. There’s wells of good sense in that man. The more I see of him, the more I find in him. He’s got more brains in his little finger than we can boast of in our whole heads. And a warm heart also.” Philander withdrew, and went very thoughtfully homeward. He felt sure that Dingle would consider his remarks, and hesitated once or twice about returning and adding another touch; but he decided that nothing more need be said for the present. On the following day, to her surprise, he sought Mrs. Trivett in the dinner hour. “Fear nothing,” he said, “and go on with your food. I haven’t come to spoil it; but you know very well your good’s mine, and it happens that I’ve got an idea.” “You’re very kind,” she answered. “I don’t feel, however, I’ve any right to your ideas—not now. But you rise above a little thing like that, and you’ll probably live to know I was right.” “It was the exception that proves the rule,” declared Mr. Knox. “You’re nearly always right, though in refusing me you were wrong. But let that pass. I’m considering your point of view. What’s in my mind now is not you, but your daughter.” “I’m going to see her this evening. She’s wrote me a letter asking me for God’s sake to come and have a cup of tea. There’s no doubt this waiting is getting on her nerves. It’s very improper.” “You’ll be surprised at what I’m going to say; but yesterday I had a remarkable conversation with your son-in-law. There’s a lot more in that man than he gets credit for.” “He’s behaved very well, I grant you—amazing well; but it’s more than time he went on with it. He didn’t ought to treat them like a cat treats a mouse.”