‘There they are ag’in,’ said Panuel, bending his head sagely round and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the door; ’at it ag’in!  Them two chavies o’ mine are allus a-quarrellin’ now, an’ it’s allus about the same thing.  ‘Tain’t the quarrellin’ as I mind so much,—­women an’ sparrows, they say, must cherrup an’ quarrel,—­but they needn’t allus keep a-nag-naggin’ about the same thing.’

‘What’s their subject, Panuel?’ I asked.

’Subjick?  Why you, in course.  That’s what the subjick is.  When women quarrels you may allus be sure there’s a chap somewheres about.’

By this time we had entered his bedroom:  he went and sat upon the bed, and without looking round him began unlacing his ‘highlows.’  I had often on previous occasions remarked that Panuel, who, when sober, was as silent as Videy, and looked like her in the face, became, the moment that he passed into ‘market-merriness,’ as frank and communicative as Sinfi, and (what was more inexplicable) looked as much like Sinfi as he had previously looked like Videy.

‘How can I be the subject of their quarrels?’ I said, listlessly enough, for I scarcely at first followed his words.

‘How?  Ain’t you a chap?’

‘Undoubtedly, Panuel, I am a chap.’

’When women quarrels there’s allus a chap somewheres about, in course there is.  But look ye here, Mr. Aylwin, the fault ain’t Sinfi’s, not a bit of it.  It’s Videy’s, wi’ her dog-in-the-manger ways.  She’s a back-bred un,’ he said, giving me a knowing wink as he pulled off his calf-skin waistcoat and tossed it on to a chair at the further end of the room with a certainty of aim that would have been marvellous, even had he been entirely free from market-merriness.

I had before observed that Panuel when market-merry always designated
Videy the ‘back-bred un, that took a’ter Shuri’s blazin’ ole dad!’
When sober his views of heredity changed; the ‘back-bred un’ was
Sinfi.

After breakfast next morning it was agreed that Panuel and Videy should walk to the Place to see that everything was going on well, while Sinfi and I should remain in the bungalow.  I observed from the distance that Videy had loitered behind her father on the Capel Curig road.  I saw a dark shadow of anger pass over Sinfi’s face, and I soon understood what was causing it.  The daughter of the well-to-do Panuel Lovell and my guest was accosting a tourist with, ’Let me tell you your fortune, my pretty gentleman.  Give the poor Gypsy a sixpence for luck, my gentleman.’

The bungalow delighted Sinfi.  ’It’s just like a great livin’-waggin, only more comfortable,’ said she.

We spent the entire morning and afternoon there, and much of the next two days.  It certainly seemed to me that her mere presence was an immense stimulus to memory in vitalising its one image.

‘What’s the use o’ us a-keepin’ a-talkin’ about Winnie?’ Sinfi said to me one day.  ’It on’y makes you fret.  You skears me sometimes; for your eyes are a-gettin’ jis’ as sad-lookin’ as Mr. D’Arcy’s eyes, an’ it’s all along o’ fret-tin’.’