“No thankye, doctor, let me bide; things ’ll come right in time. Think there’ll be a wedding at the Hall, now, sir? They tell me Miss Day’s got well and strong again.”
“I’ve enough to do with my people when they want me, Hayle,” said the doctor, drily, “and I never interfere about their private matters; but, as you ask me that question, I should say decidedly not.”
The ex-keeper smiled, as if the doctor’s words coincided with his own thoughts, and he stood watching Oldroyd, as he rode off, getting a peep at Judith seated by the window working hard as he went by, the girl’s face looking pale and waxen in the shade.
“Fretting a bit, by the look of her, and those dark rings,” said Oldroyd, as he rode away. “How much happier a place the world would be if there were no marrying and giving in marriage—no making love at all. Causes more worry, I think, than the drink.”
Volume Three—Chapter Eleven.
Drawn Together.
“Well, dearest,” said Mrs Rolph, “have you been all round?”
Rolph, who was leaning back in his chair in the library at The Warren, reading a sporting paper, uttered a growl.