"Doan’t ’e cry," he said, "unless ’tis for happiness. And I’ll speak yet further, Madge, since I’m confessing my sins to-night. There’s another that must have credit for this useful talk betwixt me and you." Her thoughts leapt to Hartley Crocker; but she did not speak. "I was saying to Rhoda a minute ago in the shed, that ’twas just like you to go up to Ditsworthy for the secret of mother’s rabbit pies. And then she--Rhoda, I mean--told me a thing or two I ought to have found out for myself." "I know right well Rhoda loves me dearly. Whatever--" began his wife; then she broke off. "Of course--like every other mortal. And she’s a woman, and soft too--though not like you. She’s content with me as I am, but you’re not; and there’s no reason why you should be. You’re right to ask for a bit of worship from me; and the hard thing is you should have to ask." "I never--never did, David. I was content too--always content, and proud of you always." "I know. You didn’t ask with your lips. But maybe you asked another way; and I didn’t see the question till--till others in the past, and again to-day, put it afore me. I’m a contrite man. I’m--" She put her hand over his mouth. "You’re a million times too fine and great for me. And I won’t hear another word. There ban’t a happier she on Dartmoor this minute than me!" "Look here," he said. "I’ll tell you what: we’ll have a lark next week. There’s a revel to Tavistock and we’ll all go--you and Rhoda and me. Would you like it?" "Dearly, and--d’you think, David, that we might ax Bartley Crocker to come? For his own sake and for Rhoda’s?" "Ax him an’ welcome. But I’m afraid ’tis all up. She’s actually against him now, I should judge, and at best she merely kept an open mind. She never cared a straw about the man, and never will. I’m sorry for him, because he’s very fond of her; but I’m not sorry for her." "I am. Any woman with a good husband must be sorry for them who haven’t got one." "But ’tis no use thinking about it. She’ll die an old maid unless something very different from Crocker comes along. I met poor Snell but yesterday and asked him how the world wagged with him. And he said as he saw his way clearer than ever he had, owing to a talk with Rhoda. Rhoda of all people! ’Glad you see what a sensible woman she is,’ I told him, and he swore he’d always seen it, but never more than when she told the risks of marriage were greater than the gains. ’I’m off it for evermore,’ he says; ’and so be she--I’ve got her word.’ Never a man was more relieved in his mind, I should reckon." "Nonsense!" declared Margaret. "She’s young for her years, and maidens all talk like that. I won’t believe it yet awhile. I won’t even believe that Bartley’s not the man. I see a lot of him and none knows him better. He’s gained a deal of sense and patience of late. He’s a kind-hearted, gentle creature, and she’d soon wake up to know what happiness really meant if she’d take him."