"Oh, my dear Rhoda, how droll you are. You are so wrapped up in your own affairs that you forget. Why, Mr Chynoweth, of course. Poor man, he has been so pressing of late, that I don't like to refuse him any longer, dear. It would be unkind; and I must own that we are very fond of each other, and I thought I should like for us to be married with you." "I'm sure I congratulate you, Martha," said Rhoda, smiling; "and if it will afford you any gratification, by all means be married at the same time; but I must warn you that our wedding will be a very quiet, tame affair." "Oh, yes, dear, and so will ours, for Mr Chynoweth says that we cannot afford to spend money upon ourselves. Oh, Rhoda, I am sure you envy me!" "No," said Rhoda, smiling, as a strange sense of the happiness in her own possession thrilled her veins. "I only congratulate you." "So strange, is it not?" said Miss Pavey. "You remember, my dear, my remark when I told you about the coming of the two gentlemen by the coach. Ah, Rhoda, dearest, that has not all come to pass, but what giddy things we were in those happy days." Rhoda felt disposed to rescind her promise, but she did not, and Miss Pavey had her wish. The last we have to record of Geoffrey Trethick is that, as a prosperous mine owner, his favourite practice is to get back to An Morlock and seat himself with his back to the rocks, and his knees up, the said knees nipping between them a portion of the garments of a sturdy baby, who nods and laughs at him, and makes catches at his face in the most absurd way; and somehow all this nonsense does not seem in any way to cause annoyance to the tall, handsome woman at his side. They both, perhaps, recall a similar scene that took place long back near Gwennas Cove; but there is never any allusion to that past; for whenever Geoffrey evinces any desire to speak of past troubles, somehow or another he finds that his lips are sealed. End of Project Gutenberg's The Vicar's People, by George Manville Fenn