Richard Ashbrook considered the matter over. He reasoned with himself, and endeavoured to quench the fire which burnt within his breast.
He was advised to try a change of scene, and left Oakfield for a while upon a visit to Mr. Jamblin, of Stoke Ferry Farm.
He flirted with little Miss Jamblin, who was at this time not out of her teens. He went out shooting with her father and brother, and passed many jovial and enjoyable evenings with his old friends.
But despite all this he could not forget Jane Ryan; her image was for ever presenting itself to his vision.
His friends were discreet and considerate enough not to mention her name; they knew perfectly well his feelings towards her, and hoped that “he would get over it.”
But Ashbrook did not find it so easy to get over it as he had imagined.
“When a man is over head and ears in love,” said Mr. Jamblin, senior, “it takes a strong rope to pull him out of the pit into which he has fallen.”
“She be a rare good un of her sort,” said the old farmer to his son one day; “but she be naught but a serving wench after all.”
“And Master Richard can do better. He ought to strike at higher game.”
“Pipple ought to do a number of things they don’t do,” answered Young Jamblin. “It ain’t easy for a man to right himself when he be capsized by a woman, no matter whether she be a serving wench or a duchess—and for the matter of that in many cases one be as good as ’tother.”