Reuben grumbled and muttered to himself as he crossed the threshold--small fry like these Jurys must not be allowed to think that he had any time to spare. The young woman led him into the kitchen and offered him a seat. Reuben took it and crossed his legs, looking appraisingly round the room, which was poorly furnished, but beautifully kept, with some attempts at decoration. There was a print of Rossetti's "Annunciation" above the meal-chest, and a shelf of books by the fireplace. It all struck him as strange and rather contemptible. He remembered what he had been told about the Jurys, who had only just come to Cheat Land. Tom Jury had, so rumour said, kept a bookshop in Hastings, but trade had gone badly, and as his health demanded an outdoor life and country air, charitable friends had established him on a small holding. He had an invalid wife, and one daughter, who was not very strong either--an ignoble family. The daughter must be the girl who was talking to him now. She sat on a little stool by the fire, and had brought out some sewing. "You come from Odiam, don't you?" she asked. "Yes, that's it." "Is Odiam that farm near Totease?" Reuben looked as if he had swallowed the poker. He stared at her to see if she were making fun of him, but her bright eyes were quite innocent. "Yes," he said huskily--"it is." "We've only been here a month, so I haven't got the neighbourhood quite clear. You see I can't often go out, as my mother's generally in bed, and I have all the house-work to do. That's why my father has to have a man to help him out of doors. It's a pity, for wages are so high--Handshut's leaving us because we could do with someone cheaper and less experienced." Reuben liked her voice, with its town modulation, the only vestige of Sussex taint being a slight drawl. It struck him that Alice Jury was a "lady," and that he was not condescending very much in speaking to her. "It's unaccountable hard to know what to do about labour. Now as these fellers are gitting eddicated they think no end of theirselves and 'ull ask justabout anything in wages--as if a man hoed turnups any better for being able to read and write." "But don't you think he does?" "No--I döan't. I'm all agäunst teaching poor people anything and setting them above theirselves. It's different fur their betters. Now I've got six boys, and they can all read and write and cast accounts." "Six boys, have you? Are they grown up?" "Yes, the youngest's sixteen." "And do they help you on the farm?" "Yes--leastways four of 'em do. Two have--have left home." "I suppose they didn't care for farming?" "One's in prison, and t'other I turned away." Reuben had no idea why he said this. It must have been the way her eyes were fixed on him, glowing above bistred shadows. "Oh, indeed!--how sad."