was humble in a way, always the patient lover, but in his manner she
detected an indefinable, irritating self-confidence--the demeanour of
one who already knows himself a conqueror before the battle is fought.

Thus the position gradually developed. As yet her father had not spoken
to Phoebe or pretended to any knowledge of what was doing; but there
came a night, at the end of November, when John Grimbal, the miller, and
Billy sat and smoked at Monks Barton after Phoebe's departure to bed.
Mr. Blee, very well knowing what matter moved the minds of his
companions, spoke first.

"Missy have put on a temperate way of late days it do seem. I most begin
to think that cat-a-mountain of a bwoy 's less in her thoughts than he
was. She 'm larnin' wisdom, as well she may wi' sich a faither."

"I doan't knaw what to think," answered Mr. Lyddon, somewhat gloomily.
"I ban't so much in her confidence as of auld days. Damaris Blanchard's
right, like enough. A maid 's tu deep even for the faither that got her,
most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was, for all that. How fares it,
John? She never names 'e to me, though I do to her."

"I'm biding my time, neighbour. I reckon 't will be right one day. It
only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say hard things
about young Blanchard. Still, while she 's wrapped up there, I may
whistle for her."

"You 'm in the right," declared Billy. "'T is an auld sayin' that all
manner of dealings be fair in love, an' true no doubt, though I'm a
bachelor myself an' no prophet in such matters."