They eyed each other with a large, impassive silence. There was plenty of leisure these days at Windyhough, too much of it; and Simon found it pleasant to watch Martha’s wholesome, wind-sweet face, to hear the voice that seemed made for singing to the kine while she sat at the milking-pail. And Martha, for her part, had never known a wooing, and the prime hunger of her life still went unsatisfied. “Human nature--it’s a queer matter,” said Simon by and by. “And there’s a deal of it about,” sighed Martha. “Human nature--soon as ever a body can get away from moil and toil and begin to think, like--why, it’s just made up o’ things we haven’t got, Simon. And if we’d got them we shouldn’t care so much for ’em, and so it’s all a round o’ foolishness, like a donkey treading at the mill-wheel.” A tear fell down on to Martha’s hand, and, because the grief was come by honestly, Simon felt an odd impulse stirring him. “Martha, my lass, I wish I was a good twenty years younger. If I were forty, now, and you----” “I’m nearing forty, Simon. We’ll not talk of ages, by your leave.” Simon walked up and down the yard, in a mood that was half between panic and something worthier. Then he came to Martha’s side. “I’ve a mind to kiss you,” he said. “Well, I’m busy,” said Martha; “but I might happen spare time.” And so they plighted troth. And Simon, when at last he went indoors to get about the duties Lady Royd found for him, was astonished that he had no qualms. He had given his promise, and knew that, as a man of his word, he would keep it. All old instincts whispered that he had been “varry rash to tie himself in a halter in that fool’s fashion”; and yet he felt only like a lad who goes whistling to help his lass bring in the kine to byre. As he reached the house, Nance, in her riding-habit, stepped out into the courtyard. Tired of her restless dreams, weary to death of the inaction and misery at Windyhough, she had stolen out of the house like a thief, afraid lest Lady Royd should need her before she made good her escape. She flushed guiltily even at this meeting with Simon, as if he had detected her in wrong-doing, though her longing for a gallop was innocent enough. “You’re for riding on horseback, Miss Nance?” he asked, by way of giving her good-day. “Yes, Simon. I shall die if I spend another day indoors. It is like being wrapped in cotton-wool.” “Well, now, you’re right! I’ve just been to the stables myself,” he added dryly, “and you’ve the pick of three rare stay-at-homes to choose from. One’s broken-winded, and one’s spavined, and t’other’s lame in the off hind-leg. There’s a fine choice for you!” “Which of the three shall I choose?” laughed Nance.