“And what colour is her hair?” asked Vi.
“Light—light hair, he said.”
“Yes; he always liked light hair, I think,” she said, still with the same faint smile and in the same soft and saddened tones. Vi was arranging her own rich dark brown tresses at the glass.
“And blue eyes—large—something the colour o’ yours, he said, Miss; he used to take great notice to her, the groom—everything. She used to go out a ridin’. A hair-pin, Miss?”
“No, Winnie, thanks.”
“He says she’s a fine rider; showy, handsome, that sort, you know.”
“And when is it all to be?”
“Well, they don’t know; but once it’s settled, I do suppose it won’t be long delayed. Why should it?”
“No why, once it’s settled, as you say.”
“And is it not well for him, poor fellow, he should have some one to love him, and look after him? What’s the good o’ life without kindness? Both o’ them handsome, and young, and loving. What more need they ask?” said old Winnie. “And if they aren’t happy, who will?”