"Yes, dear; your father thinks the world of him. He is a very good young man."
"Good? Now what do you mean by that?"
"Gracious! I hope you haven't inherited father's trick of asking questions."
"Is James pious?"
"Pious? He goes to church; he does his duty; he is to be trusted; he's a hard worker, and from what your father tells me, a real artist."
"An artist? Does he work for the love of his work?"
"I think he does."
Then and there Posy decided to cultivate James Miggott. He had excited the curiosity of an intelligent maiden. She found herself wondering what he did with himself when his work was done. Did he read? Had he any real friends? Was Miss Dredge a friend of his? What were his ambitions? The more she thought of him, the sorrier she became for him. Possibly he perceived this. Upon the rare occasions when they met, he was careful to assume a captivating air of melancholy, preserving conscientiously the right distance between them, scrupulously polite but somewhat indifferent to her advances, thereby piquing her to bolder efforts to bridge the distance. A woman of experience might have been justified in assuming that a man who could play so careful a game was no tyro at it.
This preliminary sparring lasted nearly two months.
CHAPTER XV