Mrs. Rickett tested the iron near her cheek. "And it's only the quality," she resumed, as she began to use it, "as wears such things as these. Why, I shouldn't wonder but what they came from Paris. They must have cost a mint of money."
"Ah!" said Rickett again.
"She's as nice-spoken a young lady as I've met," resumed his wife. "No pride about her, you know. She's just simple and friendly-like. Yet I'd like to see the man as'd take a liberty with her all the same."
Rickett pulled at his pipe with a grunt. When not at work, it was usually his rôle to sit and listen to his wife's chatter.
"She ain't been brought up in a convent," continued Mrs. Rickett. "That's plain to see. With all the gentle ways of her, she knows how to hold her own. Young Robin Green, he's gone just plumb moon-crazy over her, and it wouldn't surprise me"—Mrs. Rickett lowered her voice mysteriously—"but what some day Dick himself was to do the same."
"Ah!" said the smith.
"She's so taking, you know," said Mrs. Rickett, as if in extenuation of this outrageous surmise. "And there isn't anyone good enough for him about here. Of course there's the infant teacher—that Jarvis girl—she'd set her cap at him if she dared. But he wouldn't look at her. Young Jack's a deal more likely, if ever he does settle down—which I doubt. But Dick—he's different. He's—why if that ain't Mr. Fielding a-riding up the path! What ever do he want at this time of night? Go and see, George, do!"
George lumbered to his feet obediently. "Happen he's come to call on our young lady," he ventured, with a slow grin.
"Well, don't bring him in here!" commanded his wife. "Take him into the front room, while I put on a clean apron!" She hastened to shut the door upon her husband, then paused, listening intently, as Mr. Fielding's riding-whip rapped smartly on the door.
"Happen it is only the young lady he's after," she said to herself.