"That soft, low laugh of hers."
"Well, what o' that?"
"Besides, she hardly knows me!"
The Ancient took out his snuff-box and gave two loud double knocks upon the lid.
"A woman knows a man sooner than a man knows a woman—ah, a sight sooner! Why, Lord bless ye, Peter, she 'as 'im all reckoned up long afore 'e knows for sure if 'er eyes be black 'uns or brown 'uns—that she 'as." Here he extracted a pinch of snuff. "As for Prudence—she loves 'ee wi' all 'er 'eart an' soul!"
"Prudence?" said I, staring.
"Ah! Prudence—I be 'er grandfeyther, an' I know."
"Prudence!" said I again.
"She 'm a 'andsome lass, an' so pretty as a picter—you said so yourself, an' what's more, she 'm a sensible lass, an' 'll make ye as fine a wife as ever was if only—"
"If only she loved me, Ancient."