'Yes, so they said; but that would, I think, have been worse. Something may be made of Mark Wylder. He has some sense and caution, has not he?—but Sir Harry is wickedness itself!'
'Why—what has Sir Harry done? That is the way you women run away with things! If a fellow's been a little bit wild, he's Beelzebub at once. Bracton's a very good fellow, I can assure you.'
The fact is, Captain Lake, an accomplished player, made a pretty little revenue of Sir Harry's billiards, which were wild and noisy; and liking his money, thought he liked himself—a confusion not uncommon.
'I don't know, and can't say, how you fine gentlemen define wickedness: only, as an obscure female, I speak according to my lights: and he is generally thought the wickedest man in this county.'
'Well, you know, Radie, women like wicked fellows: it is contrast, I suppose, but they do; and I'm sure, from what Bracton has said to me—I know him intimately—that Dorcas likes him, and I can't conceive why they are not married.'
'It is very happy, for her at least, they are not,' said Rachel, and a long silence ensued.
Their walk continued silent for the greater part, neither was quite satisfied with the other. But Rachel at last said—
'Stanley, you meditate some injury to Mark Wylder.'
'I, Radie?' he answered quietly, 'why on earth should you think so?'
'I saw you twice watch him when you thought no one observed you—and I know your face too well, Stanley, to mistake.'