"You'll puzzle me to my dying day," he growled. "If any other female could talk such things, we'd say it was terrible unmaidenly in her; but you--naked truth's indecent in most mouths--it seems natural to yours. Not that I like you the better for it." "He's a huge man, and works at Ruddyford. He's been drawing peat these last few days, and I've had speech with him, an' gived him cider thrice. To see him drink!" "Damn him and his cider!" said Weekes, irritably. "A common labourer! You really ought to pride yourself a thought higher, Sarah Jane. What would your poor mother have said?" "She done exactly the same herself. And a prettier woman far than me when she was young. For faither's often told me so. He's raised himself since he was married. So might this chap. All the same, I don't know whether he gives me a thought when I'm out of his sight." "I think of nought but you--all day long." "And widows' houses, and a few other things! Of course you do. You haven't got up in the world by wasting your time." "Say 'yes,' and be done with it, Sarah." "I'll leave it for a round month, then I'll tell you." "You'll leave it--just to see what this hulking lout on the Moor may do." "Yes. But he's not a lout. I'm certainly not going to take you till I know if he cares for me. If he does, I'll have him, for he's made me feel very queer--so queer that it can't be anything but love. And if he don't ax inside six weeks, I'll take you." "You're the sort to go and tell him to ask you," he said, bitterly. "No, no! I won't do that. I'm a very modest woman really, though you don't seem to think so. I'll not run after him." "You're mad to dream of such a thing." "Very likely; but there 'tis. Now us had better go back-along. I promised Mr. Weekes to pour out tea for him this evening afore I went home." "I'll walk back with you." "No need. Father's going to meet me on the old tram-line. He's down to Lake to-day." They returned to the cottage of Philip Weekes, and found the company assembled. There were present a very ancient, wrinkled man with a thin, white beard, called Valentine Huggins. As happens sometimes, he had out-lived his Christian name, and an appellation, proper to youth, seemed so ridiculous applied to a veteran of fourscore that nobody ever called him by it but one or two of his own generation, who did not mark the humour. Mr. Huggins was the oldest inhabitant of Lydford, and could count numerous grandchildren, though his own sons and daughters were nearly all dead. Adam Churchward, the schoolmaster, and his daughter Mary completed the gathering. He was large, hairless, ponderous, and flatulent; she nearly approached beauty, but her mouth was thin, and her voice served to diminish the pleasure given by her bright, dark face. The tone of it sounded harsh and rough, and when she spoke two little deep lines at their corners increased the asperity of her lips.