matter, and reckoned he'd got no intentions towards the women.

"He's so much impressed by his own ugliness," Mary Cobley would tell them,
"that he never would rise to the thought of axing a female to take him;
though I tell the man that the better sort of woman ain't prone to pick a
husband, like a bird picks a cherry, for the outside."

Which was true, of course, for modesty might be said to be Jack's strong
suit, and he couldn't abear the thought of inflicting his ugly mug on a
nice young woman, which was the only sort of woman he felt he'd got any
use for.

Then, after he'd been home six months, he found his parent in tears one
night, and she explained the fatal situation that had arose with respect
to her neighbour, Mrs. Pedlar.

"Poor Jane be up against it," she said. "Things have come to a climax in
that quarter at last and, by all accounts, she's got to leave her lifelong
home. And God judge Nicholas Bewes, for he's doing a thing that will put
him on the wrong side of the Books."

Well, Jack had called on Mrs. Pedlar, of course, her being his mother's
friend; but, like most other people, he'd found the poor woman parlous
uninteresting. Her niece, however, was different, for in Milly Boon the
folk granted you could find nought but beauty and good temper, and
remarkable patience for a young woman. She was a lovely piece, with pretty
gold hair and high complexion, and grey, bright eyes. Her mouth was
rose-red and tolerable small, but always ready for a smile, and she was a
slim, active creature, a towser for work, yet full of the joy of life and
ready enough for a mite of pleasure if it came her way.