The vicar's wife answered her reprovingly, "You must not think, Miss Grains, that Mr. Dodd would allow his sister to form such a disgraceful thing as an unrequited attachment." "Oh, but dear Mrs. Dodd, suppose she couldn't help it," said the artless maiden with a blush and a little sigh. "No well-brought-up girl would allow herself to do so, my dear, she would have far too much self-respect." The brewer's daughter blushed deeply, as she thought of the many heroes, real and imaginary, from Marmion down to the last curate but two, for each of whom she herself had felt an unrequited passion, or a more than secret liking. But these hidden passions were before young farmer Wurzel, in his blue tie and white hat, had proposed to her. "Well, at all events, Miss Dodd is hardly a girl," she said defiantly. "Miss Grains," retorted the vicar's wife, "every unmarried woman, even though not in the first bloom of youth, is a 'girl' till she marries. Certainly Stacey Dodd is a 'girl'; and I have known cases, Miss Grains, in my experience, where flighty young ladies, though they may have been temporarily engaged, have remained 'girls' to the end of the chapter." To this gruesome suggestion Miss Grains made no reply. Old Mrs. Wurzel turned confidentially to the vicar's wife and said, "Is her engagement generally known?" "Perhaps," replied the president of the coal club, "it would be premature to speak of it as an engagement, but it is talked of all over the village. I believe there has been an attachment for some years, the gentleman's attentions are very marked. In fact, I don't think I am betraying her confidence, when I say that the whole village seems to be aware of it. Of course, I mention no names. I should scorn to attempt to precipitate matters. It is a suitable match, I am happy to say, for both parties, but there is an obstacle, my dear; adverse interests are in the field. My sister-in-law is somewhat of a prude. I too was a prude, and I can understand her feelings." Here Mrs. Wurzel peered at the vicaress with unfeigned surprise. "It's not quite fair, you know, to Stacey," said Mrs. Dodd. How was she to tell them, without mentioning his name, that the man who did not come to the point was the old squire himself, and yet she was anxious to do so? At this moment the austere parlour maid entered the room. "Squire Warrender is in the drawing-room, madam," she announced. Never in her life had the vicar's wife been guilty of profanity till now, but the opportunity was too golden to be missed. "Talk of the devil," she said. The four words spoke volumes. Her visitors took their leave, to spread the report over the village and parish of King's Warren.