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Mid-day found her restless and miserable under this arrangement. All the afternoon she sat alone, looking out of the window for she scarcely knew whom, and hoping she scarcely knew what. Half-past five o'clock came the end of Springrove's official day. Two minutes later Springrove walked by. She endured her solitude for another half-hour, and then could endure no longer.
'Cytherea! he said softly. She let drop her hand, and turned her head, evidently thinking that her visitor could be no other than Manston, yet puzzled at the voice. There was no preface on Springrove's tongue; he forgot his position hers that he had come to ask quietly if Manston had other proofs of being a widower everything and jumped to a conclusion.
Miss Aldclyffe's carriage at the same moment made its appearance in the drive; but Miss Aldclyffe was not her object now. It was to ascertain to whom the sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at rest one way or the other. She flew downstairs to Mrs. Morris. 'Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. Morris? 'Farmer Springrove's. 'What Farmer Springrove is that? she said quickly.
For if any rule at all can be laid down in a matter which, for men collectively, is notoriously beyond regulation, it is that to snub a petted man, and to pet a snubbed man, is the way to win in suits of both kinds. Manston with Springrove's encouragement would have become indifferent. Edward with Manston's repulses would have sheered off at the outset, as he did afterwards.
Cytherea was rather disconcerted at finding that the gradual cessation of the chopping of the mill was on her account, and still more when she saw all the cider-makers' eyes fixed upon her except Mr. Springrove's, whose natural delicacy restrained him. She neared the plot of grass, but instead of advancing further, hesitated on its border. Mr.
He and Graye had become very friendly, and he had been tempted to show her brother a copy of some poems of his some serious and sad some humorous which had appeared in the poets' corner of a magazine from time to time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, who instantly began to read them carefully and to think them very beautiful. 'Yes Springrove's no fool, said Owen sententiously. 'No fool!
'I don't know nothing. It has quite gone off now... Cytherea, I hope you like Springrove. Springrove's a nice fellow, you know. 'Yes. I think he is, except that 'It happened just to the purpose that I should meet him there, didn't it? And when I reached the station and learnt that I could not get on by train my foot seemed better.
Those who had built had, one by one, relinquished their indentures, either by sale or barter, to Farmer Springrove's father. New lives were added in some cases, by payment of a sum to the lord of the manor, etc., and all the leases were now held by the farmer himself, as one of the chief provisions for his old age. The steward had become interested in the following conversation:
'Don't be so three-cunning if it is all, deliver you from the evil of raising a woman's expectations wrongfully; I'll skimmer your pate as sure as you cry Amen! 'Well, it isn't all. 'Got married! what, Lord-a-mercy, did Springrove come? 'Springrove, no no Springrove's nothen to do wi' it 'twas Farmer Bollens. They've been playing bo-peep for these two or three months seemingly.
On the Monday after Springrove's visit, Owen had walked to the top of a hill in the neighbourhood of Tolchurch a wild hill that had no name, beside a barren down where it never looked like summer. In the intensity of his meditations on the ever-present subject, he sat down on a weather-beaten boundary-stone gazing towards the distant valleys seeing only Manston's imagined form.
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