"I said she was a fine girl, sir," said he, measuredly.
"But she's an uncommon fine girl, Phil, eh?"
"I think she is, sir."
"Well?"
Phil was twirling his hat in an abstracted way between his knees. "I don't think she's to be won very easily," said he at last.
"Nonsense, Phil! Faint heart never won. Make a bold push for it, my boy. The best birds drop at a quick shot."
"Do they?" said Phil, with a smile of incredulity that the old gentleman did not comprehend.
He found, indeed, a much larger measure of hope in a little hint that was let fall by Rose two days after. "I wouldn't despair if I were you, Phil," she had whispered in his ear.
Ah, those quiet, tender, sisterly words of encouragement, of cheer, of hope! Blest is the man who can enjoy them! and accursed must he be who scorns them, or who can never win them.
Phil, indeed, had never given over most devoted and respectful attentions to Adèle; but he had shown them latterly with a subdued and half-distrustful air, which Adèle with her keen insight had not been slow to understand. Trust a woman for fathoming all the shades of doubt which overhang the addresses of a lover!