‘Phillis and I understand each other,’ I replied, sturdily.  ’We are like brother and sister.  She would not have me as a husband if there was not another man in the world; and it would take a deal to make me think of her—­as my father wishes’ (somehow I did not like to say ’as a wife’), ‘but we love each other dearly.’

’Well, I am rather surprised at it—­not at your loving each other in a brother-and-sister kind of way—­but at your finding it so impossible to fall in love with such a beautiful woman.’  Woman! beautiful woman!  I had thought of Phillis as a comely but awkward girl; and I could not banish the pinafore from my mind’s eye when I tried to picture her to myself.  Now I turned, as Mr Holdsworth had done, to look at her again out of the window:  she had just finished her task, and was standing up, her back to us, holding the basket, and the basin in it, high in air, out of Rover’s reach, who was giving vent to his delight at the probability of a change of place by glad leaps and barks, and snatches at what he imagined to be a withheld prize.  At length she grew tired of their mutual play, and with a feint of striking him, and a ’Down, Rover! do hush!’ she looked towards the window where we were standing, as if to reassure herself that no one had been disturbed by the noise, and seeing us, she coloured all over, and hurried away, with Rover still curving in sinuous lines about her as she walked.

‘I should like to have sketched her,’ said Mr Holdsworth, as he turned away.  He went back to his chair, and rested in silence for a minute or two.  Then he was up again.

‘I would give a good deal for a book,’ he said.  ’It would keep me quiet.’  He began to look round; there were a few volumes at one end of the shovel-board.  ’Fifth volume of Matthew Henry’s Commentary,’ said he, reading their titles aloud.  ’Housewife’s complete Manual; Berridge on Prayer; L’Inferno—­Dante!’ in great surprise.  ‘Why, who reads this?’

’I told you Phillis read it.  Don’t you remember?  She knows Latin and Greek, too.’

’To be sure!  I remember!  But somehow I never put two and two together.  That quiet girl, full of household work, is the wonderful scholar, then, that put you to rout with her questions when you first began to come here.  To be sure, “Cousin Phillis!” What’s here:  a paper with the hard, obsolete words written out.  I wonder what sort of a dictionary she has got.  Baretti won’t tell her all these words.  Stay!  I have got a pencil here.  I’ll write down the most accepted meanings, and save her a little trouble.’

So he took her book and the paper back to the little round table, and employed himself in writing explanations and definitions of the words which had troubled her.  I was not sure if he was not taking a liberty:  it did not quite please me, and yet I did not know why.  He had only just done, and replaced the paper in the book, and put the latter back in its place, when I heard the sound of wheels stopping in the lane, and looking out, I saw cousin Holman getting out of a neighbour’s gig, making her little curtsey of acknowledgment, and then coming towards the house.  I went to meet her.