"Nay, old men do sometimes marry young women."
"Yes, but it is always a pity; and sometimes not quite right. No,"—and I was amused to see how gravely and doggedly John kept to his point—"though this lady did not look like a sylph or a wood-nymph—being neither very small nor very slight, and having a comfortable woollen cloak and hood over the grey silk gown—still, I don't believe she's an old woman, or married either."
"How can you possibly tell? Did you see her face?"
"Of course not," he answered, rather indignantly. "I should not think it manly to chase a lady as a schoolboy does a butterfly, for the mere gratification of staring at her. I stayed on the top of the Flat till she had gone indoors."
"Into Rose Cottage?"
"Why—yes."
"She had, doubtless, gone to fetch new-laid eggs for her—I mean for the sick gentleman's breakfast. Kind soul!"
"You may jest, Phineas, but I think she is a kind soul. On her way home I saw her stop twice; once to speak to an old woman who was gathering sticks; and again, to scold a lad for thrashing a donkey."
"Did you hear her?"
"No; but I judge from the lad's penitent face as I passed him. I am sure she had been scolding him."