Betty was demure and silent, with eyes cast down, though I fancied I now and then caught her regarding me with some anxiety. I suppose she would have liked to find out how much I did know, or whether I knew anything. In good sooth I did not know anything, but I must needs own that my suspicions were strong, and grew stronger the more I considered the matter. In the beginning of our acquaintance Betty had been much disposed to make a confidante of me, and she herself had told me that Mr. Lovel had been a suitor for her hand, but that her mother had rejected him because he was a spendthrift, and had no good character in other respects, besides being a total unbeliever—a fashion just then much affected by a certain class of men who wished to appear strong-minded and learned at small cost. I could see that Betty was well enough disposed toward him—indeed she said so. And our first breach came from my saying I wondered she could think of such a person for a husband. I expressed myself pretty warmly on the subject, at which she was very much vexed, and said some sharp things in her turn. However, we made up the quarrel, but when Betty began to talk of him again—I, with a degree of prudence rather to be wondered at, positively refused to hear, telling her that since her mother and brother were opposed to the match, and with such good reason, she ought not to allow her thoughts to dwell upon the subject, but to conquer her regard for Mr. Lovel, if she had any. This little lecture completed the breach between us, and from that time Betty never lost a chance of vexing and injuring me, though she managed her matters with such adroitness that even Andrew did not see through them, and I began to wonder in myself whether I was not growing touchy and ill-natured. As soon as breakfast was over, my mother and myself retired to our apartment, to finish our preparations for the removal to the Well House. They were not many, for most of our goods were sent thither already, and the house having been kept in such nice order, there was but little to do. My aunt, on her part, was busy among her storerooms and presses, and we presently saw old Matt driving the laden donkey before him, and carrying as many baskets as would have loaded another. We meant to have gone away directly after breakfast, but aunt was most earnest with us to stay to dinner and partake of the feast which had been put in hand before the unlucky business of the book. So, though I at least was impatient to be gone, we consented to remain. What a feast it was, to be sure! What jellies and creams and tarts and pies of every sort and kind! (The Cornish folk are famous for pies, and 'tis said that the devil never dared to come into Cornwall lest they should take a fancy to "a devilly pie." This, however, is not true. He is just as busy in Cornwall as anywhere else.)