“You have a kind heart, I see, my lass,” said old Peters; “a kind heart as well as a purty face. I never knew ’em go together afore. I divided the world o’ women afore into two lots. There was the illigant faymales, with their fine faces, and their fine walk, and their fine bits o’ ways; and there was the plain, downright women, like my old missis, wot died, and like our good friend, Mrs Hibberty Jones” (Mrs Hibberty Jones turned white with suppressed anger at this marked allusion to her present appearance), “and like Miss Hatton,” continued Peters, “sterling bodies both o’ them, but awk’ard outside. We must own as plain women is awk’ard outside. Well, I thought as the plain ’uns were the good ’uns, and the purty ’uns the bad ’uns. Never thought as they’d get mixed; never did, never. But the ways of the Lord are wonderful, and I can’t but b’lieve that there’s a purty nature inside that bonny face o’ yourn, my gel.”
Jill received old Mr Peters’s rather embarrassing compliments with a calm indifference that greatly amazed the three other women present.
“I don’t think nobody ought to think o’ looks one way or t’other,” she said, after a pause. “We’re as we’re made—it’s the inside as is everything. I never know’d kind, rich, grand sort of folks like these here afore. I wor brought up rough, although I don’t like roughness; and some o’ the people I has met were real ugly in feature, but oh, the ’earts in ’em—the kindness o’ ’em—the beautiful look as love had put in their eyes. I don’t think the looks matters at all, it’s the ’earts as is everything.”
Jill looked so sweet when she said this that even the angry women were appeased, and Miss Hatton, suddenly moving her chair, made room for Jill to sit opposite the honey.
“You come nigh to me,” she said; “I own as I’m awk’ard, and I’m sorry I broke a bit of your chaney.”
“Go and set near her, Jill,” whispered Silas; “your winnin’ of ’em all, my little cuttin’; I knew as yer would.”
“Jill,” said Aunt Hannah, “I ’ope as you’re a gel as is willin’ to hact up to your own words. I will say as you looks well-meaning. It worn’t your fault as you were made handsome—it’s a trial, I will own; but you must try and take it patient. But what I wants to know is this—’ave you or ’ave you not got a light hand with chaney? Chaney is more delicate nor a woman; it has, so to speak, no constitootion. Any minute, by a rough knock or a push, or the awkardness jest now shown by Mary Ann Hatton, and there—it’ll go, shivered. The gel what can manage chaney has something to be proud on. When I was married I got a tea-sarvice of white chaney with a gold rim, and a scalloped edge round the saucer. It wor werry neat, but not a patch on this, for this blue convolvuly is too cunnin’ for anything. Well, when you come to see me, Jill, I’ll show you my chaney, every piece complete, not a crack in it, nor a chip; all the little cups, and the scalloped saucers and the plates, jest as I got ’em when I wor married. Why wor this? I’ll tell you why. I put ’em in a glass cupboard, and I never used ’em ’cept at christenings. Ef you keep this chaney for christenings why it’ll last, Jill, but ef you uses it every day, it stands to reason as the constitootions of these cups and saucers’ll give way. I ask yer now, in the presence of yer future husband, Mr Peters, Mr Hibberty Jones, the good wife of the latter, and Miss Mary Ann Hatton, what is yer intentions with regard to this beautiful chaney?”
“How can she tell jest now, Aunt Hannah?” said Silas.
“In the matter of wedding the gel I leave everything to you, Silas,” remarked his aunt, “but in the cause of the chaney I must speak my mind. Consider this question, my gel, and hanswer me true.”
There was a dead pause when Aunt Hannah came to the end of her oration. The other women, and even the men, looked at Jill with some small anxiety. She was quite silent for a moment, looking down at the delicate little cup and saucer which stood by her plate.