His lady-love was skinny, hollow-chested, stooping and round-backed; her arms were almost like sticks.
She wore a soiled calico gown, too long behind for its length in front. Her pale-coloured hair was drawn off her white face, and plaited into an untidy pig tail which hung down her back. Certain small wisps of it escaped in front, and made what looked in the dim light like the rudiments of a nimbus about her head. She was drawn down on one side by the weight of the heavy, clanking, copper bucket which she carried.
The well was right across the yard, quite near the gate where Bert stood, and his large person was very visible; but the girl came on with no sign that she saw him; and, reaching the well, hooked her bucket on the chain, and let it down, with a stony, expressionless countenance.
Bert leaned over the gate; the expression of his face had altered completely.
"Millie," he said, below his breath, "Millie!"
She gave him a listless glance, from weary, heavy-lidded, dark-blue eyes.
"Oh, good evening!" she said curtly.
He unlatched the gate, came through, and took the windlass out of her hand.
"Thought you promised not to come inside," she remarked.
"Only jest ter wind up this"—perhaps the thought of Mayne and the swear-words flitted across his mind, for he pulled up short, and merely finished lamely with—"this 'ere bucket."