“Well, Susan, what can I do for you?”
The rector addressed all young women as “Susan,” a fatherly and comprehensive pseudonyme that mingled benignity with good-humor. Bess’s lips parted in a smile. The old gentleman’s manner pleased her, and she thought he appeared capable of being trusted.
“Are you a parson, sir?”
Dr. Sugg seemed amused by the blunt innocence of the question. He threw the daisy roots into the trug, and reached for his coat that was hanging on a neighboring laurel.
“I happen to be the rector of Rodenham, young woman,” he said, studying her with the professional eye.
“Will you give me your advice, sir?”
“My advice is at your service, my dear, for what it is worth.”
Bess had come well within the gate. She stood before the rector, with her black hair peeping out from under the hood of her cloak and her eyes fixed steadfastly on Dr. Sugg’s face. The rector had never heard a professional beggar ask him for his advice, and there was much in the girl’s manner that pleased him. He had perused her lines admiringly, and noticed the beautiful cleanliness of her clothes. It was not often that so tall and fine a girl was to be seen trudging the high-road through Rodenham.
“Well, my dear,” he said, with a shrewd smile, “how can I advise you?”
Bess’s eyes were still fixed frankly on his face. Their expression convinced the reverend gentleman that this red-mouthed Phœbe was telling the truth.