for her aloofness, would have been a certain worldliness.  He felt his dreams of the old time rudely upset.  Killigrew’s erratic defection, the altered feeling of Judy, which made him uncertain even whether to call her by her Christian name as of old or not, the presence of this oddly-attired girl with the mouth, were all so different from what he had been expecting.  He told himself that when Killigrew did arrive he also would probably be a different creature from of old, not knowing that exactly what made Killigrew such a wearing person to keep up with was that he never changed, only became more himself.

Judith was not very illuminating on the subject when he questioned her, merely answering him with an affirmative when he asked her whether she had seen a good deal of Killigrew since the old days, and he was forced to keep company with his curiosity till Killigrew should appear out of the blue a few days hence.

Meanwhile, he drove the two ladies to Mrs. Penticost’s, Judy saying that as they had luggage she thought it would be simpler to go straight there instead of stopping for supper at the Manor.  The next day, however, both were to meet Boase there for tea.

Meanwhile Ishmael had to relinquish them to the care of Mrs. Penticost and go back to the Manor, feeling discontented and unable to settle to anything, while at the same time he was not at all sure he was glad that Killigrew had ever taken it into his head to come down and send his harem, as Ishmael annoyedly termed it to himself, before him.  Not so Mrs. Penticost.  She still called Judith her lamb, and after folding her to her portly breast was not likely to feel any tremors when she held her off to gaze at her.

“You’m gone through somethen’ since I saw ’ee, my dear,” she announced candidly.  “There’s lines under your pretty eyes that dedn’ belong to be there.  I shouldn’ wonder if it wasn’t the men as had putt en there.  Menfolk are like children—­they’m a pack of worry, but the women can’t get along happy wethout en.”

“Well, at least I haven’t any children, Mother Penticost,” said Judy, laughing.

“Aren’t married, are you, my dear?  Mr. Ruan ded say ‘Miss Parminter’ to I when he came about the rooms.”

“No, I’m not married.”

“And why’s that?” demanded the direct Mrs. Penticost.  “Not because they haven’t asked ’ee, I’ll lay.  Couldn’t ’ee fancy none of en, my dear sawl?”

“Not enough for that, apparently.”

“I used to think you and that Killigrew weth his red head and his free tongue would make a match of it, but I suppose it was not to be....  Never mind, my dear.  We never goes to church weth the first one as takes our fancy.”

“Oh, I shall never marry!” declared Judith lightly.  “By the way, I hear Mr. Ruan has a beautiful boy, Mrs. Penticost.”

“Aw, dear sawl, so he have.  Best thing that flighty little faggot to the mill ever ded was to make that babe.  Children’s a deal of trouble, though, so they are.  Some has boys and wants maids, and some has only maids and provokes the Lard to send en boys, as though there weren’t enough men in the world.  No pleasing some folks.”