"Very likely," she replied calmly. "I've seen him once before in London, talking to Major Tixall. Who could forget a face like that?" "He's uglier than the big-mouthed dragoon." "The dragoon was at any rate a soldier." "And the worst of soldiers has, no doubt, some savour of grace in him." "Quite so," she retorted. "His calling makes it necessary." "And, so reasoning, you would say, I suppose, that the best of farmers was to seek in the higher reaches of manliness." "Have I not told you, Master Oliver, that between man's logic and woman's logic there's a great gulf fixed?" "Minds are minds," said I. "And hearts are hearts," replied she, and so shut me up to my thinking again. We turned into a cart-track on our left leading in the direction of Eccleshall. As we turned I saw that Bladder-face had mounted his horse and was coming on toward Stone. There was no doubt that we should be pursued from that quarter before long, and I grew heavy with anxiety as I saw how hardly we were being pressed. The encounter had not, however, disturbed Mistress Waynflete. On the contrary, she became gayer than ever, so gay that, fool-like, I got quite vexed at it, for it was clear that something had relieved her anxiety, and I knew it was nothing that I had done. I worried over it, and at last hit on the explanation. She was rejoicing in the help of the new partner. "What do you make of Master Freake?" said I boorishly, cutting short a lightsome trill, more Italian maybe. "Make of what?" said she lightly. "Master Freake." "Forgive me, Master Wheatman," she replied, "but I didn't take you as quickly as I ought to have done. I like the look of him. How pretty, pluck them for me." I stopped to gather the spray of brilliant vermilion berries she fancied, saying meanwhile, "I wonder what he is? Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, or what?" She seemed much more concerned with her berries, which she praised rapturously, and placed carefully in the bosom of her riding-dress before replying. "He's no doubt a grave and prosperous citizen of London. I've seen many such, and he looks sworn brother to worthy Alderman Heathcoat. Moreover, he talks merchantlike." It seemed pretty certain that she had hit the right nail on the head. Her explanation fitted his account of the large sums he was carrying and his stay with and hold over Jack's father. True, Staffordshire seemed the wrong place for such a man. Both he and his money would have been far safer in Change Alley. If her explanation was acute and probable, her manner of making it had convinced me that my explanation of her gaiety was wrong. Of him she certainly had not been thinking. Then there was only one thing left to account for it. What makes a maid as merry as a grig? Didn't our Kate sing all morning when Jack was coming in the afternoon?