"There’ll be a thunderstorm afore long, as you say," she remarked. "I quite agree. And how be you faring? You’m looking purty middling; and I be purty middling, and so’s my mother, thank God, though she was into her seventy-fourth year last month." "I’m all right." "I ban’t too close to you, I hope?" She shook her head. She felt comfortable and easy with him, as usual, but her heart beat no quicker for his voice or the inquiring gaze of his great mild eyes. "My brother was married afore I comed acquainted with you. He’s a gamekeeper and his wife has a child every second year. For my part I think they’re unlucky; but their way is to trust the Lord to look after the childer. But I’m not sure. By the same token you might not know that you’ve got another nephew. Your sister, Mrs. Screech, had a son yesterday betwixt six and seven of the evening. Screech comed in to smoke a pipe when ’twas all over. A very clever job, I hear, and the child to be called after your father." "I don’t want to know nothing about it, thank you." "Beg pardon, I’m sure." He was silenced for some time. Then he observed that Rhoda had a finger tied up. "I do hope as you haven’t hurt yourself," he said. "Nothing at all. A dog bit through when he was playing." "They will, and yet mean no harm." She considered with herself whether this man could be of any use to her, and she decided that he could not. It was in any case almost impossible to state her difficulties. She found it hard to put them into words even in thought, where an idea, though it cannot live away from the symbols of words, yet develops without any coherent sentences and reasoned speech. To tell to another what was in her mind had as yet been beyond her power; and to mention the difficulty to Mr. Snell, even if possible, must have proved a futile task. Her instinct assured her that his mind was no more built to speak wisdom on sex questions than her own. She reflected thus, while he, employed upon a different matter, wondered vaguely if he might arrange another walk with her; whether it was worth while to do so; and whether, even if she accepted the invitation, he really desired such a thing. Presently she uttered a generality which bore obliquely upon his own ideas. "What a terrible difficult world it do seem to become, if you’m married! And even if you’m thrown much against married people, you can’t escape it. If you care a lot about folk, you’m bound to feel for ’em, I suppose." "I quite agree--never heard a truer word," he said. "’Tis the worst of being fond of people that, if they get in a mess, it makes you feel uncomfortable. You can’t escape from that." "The fewer we care about, the more peace we have, seemingly." "Exactly so. I’ve thought that very thought, and I’ve often thanked God that, after my mother, and my brother, and my brother’s wife, and one of my nephews, there’s nobody in the world I should shed a tear for if they was took."