"I'm afraid Dick's a lost man," said the tranter.

"What?--no!" said Mail, implying by his manner that it was a far commoner
thing for his ears to report what was not said than that his judgment
should be at fault.

"Ay," said the tranter, still gazing at Dick's unconscious advance. "I
don't at all like what I see! There's too many o' them looks out of the
winder without noticing anything; too much shining of boots; too much
peeping round corners; too much looking at the clock; telling about
clever things she did till you be sick of it; and then upon a hint to
that effect a horrible silence about her. I've walked the path once in
my life and know the country, neighbours; and Dick's a lost man!" The
tranter turned a quarter round and smiled a smile of miserable satire at
the setting new moon, which happened to catch his eye.

The others became far too serious at this announcement to allow them to
speak; and they still regarded Dick in the distance.

"'Twas his mother's fault," the tranter continued, "in asking the young
woman to our party last Christmas. When I eyed the blue frock and light
heels o' the maid, I had my thoughts directly. 'God bless thee, Dicky my
sonny,' I said to myself; 'there's a delusion for thee!'"

"They seemed to be rather distant in manner last Sunday, I thought?" Mail
tentatively observed, as became one who was not a member of the family.

"Ay, that's a part of the zickness. Distance belongs to it, slyness
belongs to it, queerest things on earth belongs to it! There, 'tmay as