‘Why I have decided to marry her,’ resumed Darton (in a measured musical voice of confidence which revealed a good deal of his composition), as he glanced round to see that the lad was not too near, ’is not only that I like her, but that I can do no better, even from a fairly practical point of view.  That I might ha’ looked higher is possibly true, though it is really all nonsense.  I have had experience enough in looking above me.  “No more superior women for me,” said I—­you know when.  Sally is a comely, independent, simple character, with no make-up about her, who’ll think me as much a superior to her as I used to think—­you know who I mean—­was to me.’

‘Ay,’ said Johns.  ’However, I shouldn’t call Sally Hall simple.  Primary, because no Sally is; secondary, because if some could be, this one wouldn’t.  ’Tis a wrong denomination to apply to a woman, Charles, and affects me, as your best man, like cold water.  ’Tis like recommending a stage play by saying there’s neither murder, villainy, nor harm of any sort in it, when that’s what you’ve paid your half-crown to see.’

‘Well; may your opinion do you good.  Mine’s a different one.’  And turning the conversation from the philosophical to the practical, Darton expressed a hope that the said Sally had received what he’d sent on by the carrier that day.

Johns wanted to know what that was.

‘It is a dress,’ said Darton.  ’Not exactly a wedding-dress; though she may use it as one if she likes.  It is rather serviceable than showy—­suitable for the winter weather.’

‘Good,’ said Johns.  ’Serviceable is a wise word in a bridegroom.  I commend ye, Charles.’

‘For,’ said Darton, ’why should a woman dress up like a rope-dancer because she’s going to do the most solemn deed of her life except dying?’

‘Faith, why?  But she will, because she will, I suppose,’ said Dairyman Johns.

‘H’m,’ said Darton.

The lane they followed had been nearly straight for several miles, but it now took a turn, and winding uncertainly for some distance forked into two.  By night country roads are apt to reveal ungainly qualities which pass without observation during day; and though Darton had travelled this way before, he had not done so frequently, Sally having been wooed at the house of a relative near his own.  He never remembered seeing at this spot a pair of alternative ways looking so equally probable as these two did now.  Johns rode on a few steps.

‘Don’t be out of heart, sonny,’ he cried.  ’Here’s a handpost.  Enoch—­come and climm this post, and tell us the way.’

The lad dismounted, and jumped into the hedge where the post stood under a tree.

‘Unstrap the baskets, or you’ll smash up that wine!’ cried Darton, as the young man began spasmodically to climb the post, baskets and all.

‘Was there ever less head in a brainless world?’ said Johns.  ’Here, simple Nocky, I’ll do it.’  He leapt off, and with much puffing climbed the post, striking a match when he reached the top, and moving the light along the arm, the lad standing and gazing at the spectacle.