"And yet, for just that reason, they might be drawn together."
By chance the man of whom they spoke appeared a little farther on their way. He was a large-boned, ox-eyed labourer, with a baby's face on adult shoulders. Not a wrinkle of thought, not a sensual line was ruled upon his round cheeks or brow. A yellow beard and moustache hid the lower part of his face. His skin was clear and high-coloured; his nose was thin; his forehead was high and narrow.
"Give you good-afternoon," said Mr. Snell. He spoke in a thin, colourless voice and his face revealed no expression but a sort of ovine placidity.
Bartley winked at Madge.
"And how be all at Ditsworthy Warren House, Simon?" he asked.
"I was there last Thursday. They was all well then. I'm going there now to drink tea with--"
"With Miss Rhoda--eh? Or is it Miss Dorcas?"
The shadowy ghost of a smile touched Simon's mild face.
"What a dashing way you have of mentioning the females! I never could do it, I'm sure. 'Tis about some spaniel pups as I be going up over. Give you good-afternoon."
He stalked away, calm, solemn, inane.