ought to have eyes in the backs of their heads," Mrs. Black had
observed.

It was at breakfast time, Lydia now remembered, and the minister was
late, as frequently happened.

"I thought like's not nobody would mention it to you," Mrs. Black had
further elucidated. "Of course _he_ wouldn't say anything, men-folks
are kind of sly and secret in their doings--even the best of 'em; and
you'll find it's so, as you travel along life's path-way."

Mrs. Black had once written a piece of poetry and it had actually
been printed in the Grenoble _News_; since then she frequently made
use of figures of speech.

"A married woman and a widow can speak from experience," she went on.
"So I thought I'd just tell you: he's as good as engaged, already."

"Do you mean Mr. Elliot?" asked Lydia incuriously.

Mrs. Black nodded.

"I thought you ought to know," she said.

Mr. Elliot had entered the room upon the heels of this warning, and
Lydia had promptly forgotten it. Now she paused for a swift review of
the weeks which had already passed since her arrival. Mr. Elliot had
been unobtrusively kind and helpful from the first, she remembered.
Later, he had been indefatigable in the matter of securing workmen
for the restoration of the old house, when she made it clear to him