He told her--and at the first village she successfully sold seven herrings, five haddocks, three score of potatoes, and so many separate pounds of apples that she lost count. He was lavish of his praises. "You might have been brought up to it from a girl," he said, and she wondered how old he thought she was then. She yawned no more over dull novels now--Buxton no longer bored her. She had suddenly discovered a new life--a new stage on which to play a part, her own ability in mastering which filled her with the pleasure of a clever child, or a dog who has learned a new trick. Of course, it was not a new trick; it was the old one. It was impossible not to go out with the greengrocer every day. What else was there to do? How else could she exercise her most perfectly developed talent--that of smiling on people till they loved her? We all like to do that which we can do best. And she never felt so contented as when she was exercising this incontestable talent of hers. She did not know the talent for what it was. She called it "being nice to people." So every day saw her, with roses freshening in her cheeks, driving over the moors in the wheeled tea-tray. And now she sold regularly. One day he said-- "What a wife you'd make for a business chap!" But even that didn't warn her, because she happened to be thinking of Jack--and she thought how good a wife she meant to be to him. _He_ was a "business chap" too. "What are you really--by trade, I mean?" he said on another occasion. "Nothing in particular. What did you think I was?" she said. "Oh--I dunno--I thought a lady's maid, as likely as not, or maybe in the dressmaking. You aren't a common sort--anyone can see that." Again pique and pleasure fought in her. She never so much as thought of telling him that she was married. She saw no reason for it. It was her role to enter into his life, not to dazzle him with visions of hers. At last that happened which was bound to happen. And it happened under the shadow of a great rock, in a cleft, green-grown and sheltered, where the road runs beside the noisy, stony, rapid, unnavigable river. He had drawn the cart up on the grass, and she had got down and was sitting on a stone eating sandwiches, for her nurse had persuaded her to take her lunch with her so as to spend every possible hour on these life-giving moors. He had eaten bread and cheese standing by the horse's head. It was a holiday. He was not selling fish and vegetables. He was in his best, and she had never liked him so little. As she finished her last dainty bite he threw away the crusts and rinds of his meal and came over to her. "Well," he said, with an abrupt tenderness that at once thrilled and revolted her, "don't you think it's time as we settled something betwixt us?" "I don't know what you mean," she said. But, quite suddenly and terribly, she did.