"Well," he said, "I expect you'll want me to help you a bit, Miss Joanna."
Joanna had sat down again at the end of the table—big, tousled, over-dressed, alive. Huxtable surveyed her approvingly. "A damn fine woman," he said to himself, "she'll marry before long."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Huxtable," said Joanna, "there's many a little thing I'd like to talk over with you."
"Well, now's your time, young lady. I shan't have to be home for an hour or two yet. The first thing is, I suppose, for me to find you a bailiff for this farm."
"No, thank you kindly. I'll manage that."
"What! Do you know of a man?"
"No—I mean I'll manage the farm."
"You! My dear Miss Joanna ..."
"Well, why not? I've been bred up to it from a child. I used to do everything with poor father."
As she said the last word her brightness became for a moment dimmed, and tears swam into her eyes for the first time since she had taken the ceremonial handkerchief away from them. But the next minute she lighted up again.