"Then he must be reasonable. He appears to forget I'm nearly twenty-four," answered his cousin.
Conversation ranged over their problems and their hopes. Then Rupert touched another matrimonial disappointment.
"It looks as if we were not to be fortunate in love," he said. "There's Ned terrible down on his luck. He's offered marriage again—to Farmer Chave's second daughter; and 'twas as good as done; but Mr. Chave wouldn't hear of it, and he's talked the girl round and Ned's got chucked."
"Serve him right," said Milly. "He jilted two girls. 'Twill do him good to smart a bit himself."
"The Chaves are a lot too high for us," asserted Mark. "He's a very well-born and rich man, and his father was a Justice of the Peace, and known in London. He only farms to amuse himself."
"'Twas Ned's face, I reckon," said Cora. "They Chave women are both terrible stuck up. Makes me sick to see 'em in church all in their town-made clothes. But fine feathers won't make fine birds of them. They'm both flat as a plate, and a lot older than they pretend. Ned is well out of it, I reckon."
"He don't think so, however," replied Rupert. "I've never known him take any of his affairs to heart like this one. Moped and gallied he is, and creeps about with a face as long as a fiddle; and off his food too."
"Poor chap," said Cora feelingly.
"Even talks of ending it and making away with himself. Terrible hard hit, I do believe."
"Your mother must be in a bad way about him," said Milly.