"You 'm right. An' that, for some queer reason, puts me in mind of the
other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to me."

"He's too late, thank God!"

"Ess, fay! An' if he'd comed afore 'e, Clem, he'd been tu early. Theer's
awnly wan man in the gert world for me."

"My gypsy!"

"But I didn't mean that. He wouldn't look at me, not even if I was a
free woman. 'T was of you I thought when I talked to Mr. Grimbal. He'm
well-to-do, and be seekin' a house in the higher quarter under
Middledown. You an' him have the same fancy for the auld stones. So you
might grow into friends--eh, Clem? Couldn't it so fall out? He might
serve to help--eh? You 'm two-and-thirty year auld next February, an' it
do look as though they silly bees ban't gwaine to put money enough in
the bank to spell a weddin' for us this thirty year to come. Theer's
awnly your aunt, Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and
that tu doubtful to count on."

"Don't name her, Chris. Good Lord! poor drunken old thing, with that
crowd of hungry relations waiting like vultures round a dying camel!
Never think of her. Money she has, but I sha'n't see the colour of it,
and I don't want to."

"Well, let that bide. Martin Grimbal's the man in my thought."

"What can I do there?"