Mrs. Clowes said that it did him credit, but, speaking for herself, she hadn't noticed it.
"He was talking about you night before last," said Negget, turning to his hostess; "not that that's anything fresh. He always is talking about you nowadays."
The widow coughed confusedly and told him not to be foolish.
"Ask my wife," said the farmer, impressively; "they were talking about you for hours. He's a very shy man is my wife's uncle, but you should see his face change when your name's mentioned."
As a matter of fact, Mr. Bodfish's face was at that very moment taking on a deeper shade of crimson.
"Everything you do seems to interest him," continued the farmer, disregarding Mrs. Driver's manifest distress; "he was asking Lizzie about your calling on Monday; how long you stayed, and where you sat; and after she'd told him, I'm blest if he didn't go and sit in the same chair!"
This romantic setting to a perfectly casual action on the part of Mr. Bodfish affected the widow visibly, but its effect on the ex-constable nearly upset the bread-pan.
"But here," continued Mr. Negget, with another glance at the larder, "he might go on like that for years. He's a wunnerful shy man—big, and gentle, and shy. He wanted Lizzie to ask you to tea yesterday."
"Now, Mr. Negget," said the blushing widow. "Do be quiet."
"Fact," replied the farmer; "solemn fact, I assure you. And he asked her whether you were fond of jewellery."