They walked a little way forward, while Rupert stopped behind and spoke to his cousin Mark. "So you like that boy very much--eh?" said the old man drily and suddenly to Milly. She coloured up and nodded. "Nonsense and foolery!" "If 'tis, I wouldn't exchange it for your sense, Mr. Baskerville." He made a deep grunt, like a bear. "That's the pert way childer speak to the old folk now--is it?" "Even you was in love once?" "Nonsense and foolery--nonsense and foolery!" "Would you do different if you could go back?" He did not answer the question. "I doubt you're too good for Rupert Baskerville," he said. "He's too good for me." "He stands to work--I grant that. But he's young, and he's foolish, like all young things. Think better of it. Keep away from the young men. Work--work--work your fingers to the bone. That's the only wise way. I'm going to look at yonder ruin on the side of Hen Tor. I may build it up again and live there and die there." "What! Leave Hawk House, Mr. Baskerville?" "Why not? 'Tis too much in the world for me and Mark." "'Tis the loneliest house in these parts." "Too much in the world," he repeated. "That's nonsense and foolery, if you like," she said calmly; "I'm sure love-making be all plain common-sense compared to that." He pulled up and regarded her with a grim stare. "I've found somebody to-day that isn't afraid of me, seemingly." "Why for should I be?" "For no reason, except that most others are. What do they all think? I'll tell you; they think I'm wrong here." He tilted up his black wide-awake hat and tapped his forehead. "Surely never! The folk only be frightened of your great wittiness--so I believe. Rupert always says that you are terrible clever." "That shows he's a terrible fool. Don't you mate with a fool, Milly." "I'll promise that anyway, sir." She spoke with perfect self-possession and interested the old man. Then he found that he was interested, and turned upon himself impatiently and shouted to his son. "Come on, boy! What are you dawdling there for?" Mark instantly dug his heels into his pony and followed his father. He was a youthful edition of the elder, with a difference. Humphrey was ill-clad, and Mark was neat. Humphrey's voice was harsh and disagreeable; Mark's was soft and almost womanly. Mark also had a smooth face and heavy eyebrows; but his features were clearer cut, more delicate; his eyes were blue and beautiful. He had a manner somewhat timid and retiring. He was not a cringing man, but a native deference guided him in all dealings with his kind. Before starting, Mr. Baskerville stopped, drew a letter from his pocket, and called to Rupert. "Take this to my brother Vivian, will you? I was going to leave it on the way back, but I'll not waste his time." The youth came forward and took the letter. "Father's away to Bideford--standing stickler for the wrestlin'," he said.