“If I do, Henry, it won’t be your sister, so don’t throw out no hopes,” answered Knox. Henry laughed. “No man ever offered for her and no man ever will,” he declared. “Her pride is to do man’s work and she never will do woman’s—not if all the men in Devon went on their knees to her.” “I’ve known others the same,” declared Philander. “They’re neuter bees, to say it kindly, and they hum so terrible sorrowful over their toil that the male give ’em a wide berth. Duty’s their watchword; and they do it in a way to make us common people hate the word.” “That’s Alice. You know the sort seemingly,” said Henry. “I’ve met with ’em. They are scattered about. I used to pity ’em till I found there wasn’t no need. They’re quite satisfied with themselves for the most part, but seldom satisfied with other people.” “Alice is a withering woman, though a very good housekeeper and looks after me very well,” said Mr. Barefoot. “As housekeepers they can’t be beaten,” admitted the other. “But Mrs. Dingle is a very different pattern—a pretty creature—prettiest I’ve seen for a month of Sundays. They pretty women are exacting in marriage, because nine times out of ten they’ve been spoiled before. She looks to me as though she wanted something she ain’t got.” “Dingle don’t know what she wants, for in a minute of temper he told me so,” said Mr. Life. “Don’t he? Then you tell him to be quick and find out,” advised Philander, “because with a rare piece like that, if he don’t, some other young fellow very likely will.” Then Kellock spoke, for this sentiment seemed outrageous to him. “How can you say such an indecent thing!” he exclaimed. “A man of your age ought to know better.” “A man of your age perhaps don’t,” answered Mr. Knox. “And yet you’re old enough to know the meaning of a pretty girl. But I’m afraid you’re one of those chaps that’s had some useful things left out of him, Kellock. You ain’t called ‘Jordan’ for nothing I expect. No doubt you wouldn’t wish to comfort Mrs. Dingle; but then you’re not everybody, and other young men might feel called to cheer her up—no more than that of course. And why you should flush so red and use the word ‘indecent’ to such a decent man as me, I can’t guess.” “You would if you knew more about it, however,” said Henry Barefoot. “You ain’t up in our history yet, else you’d understand that Kellock here was one of the ‘also ran’ lot after Medora Dingle. No offence, Jordan—of course such things can’t be hid.” “You oughtn’t to talk about such private matters, Barefoot,” answered Kellock calmly, “and a conversation like this is improper, and for my part I don’t wish to hear any more of it. No self-respecting man would pry into such a delicate subject.”