Anthony was shown at church, in spite of a feeble intimation he expressed, that it would be agreeable to him to walk about in the March sunshine, and see the grounds and the wild flowers, which never gave trouble, nor cost a penny, and were always pretty, and worth twenty of your artificial contrivances.

“Same as I say to Miss Dahly,” he took occasion to remark; “but no!—­no good.  I don’t believe women hear ye, when you talk sense of that kind.  ‘Look,’ says I, ‘at a violet.’  ‘Look,’ says she, ‘at a rose.’  Well, what can ye say after that?  She swears the rose looks best.  You swear the violet costs least.  Then there you have a battle between what it costs and how it looks.”

Robert pronounced a conventional affirmative, when called on for it by a look from Anthony.  Whereupon Rhoda cried out,—­

“Dahlia was right—­she was right, uncle.”

“She was right, my dear, if she was a ten-thousander.  She wasn’t right as a farmer’s daughter with poor expectations.—­I’d say humble, if humble she were.  As a farmer’s daughter, she should choose the violet side.  That’s clear as day.  One thing’s good, I admit; she tells me she makes her own bonnets, and they’re as good as milliners’, and that’s a proud matter to say of your own niece.  And to buy dresses for herself, I suppose, she’s sat down and she made dresses for fine ladies.  I’ve found her at it.  Save the money for the work, says I. What does she reply—­ she always has a reply:  ’Uncle, I know the value of money better.  ’You mean, you spend it,’ I says to her.  ‘I buy more than it’s worth,’ says she.  And I’ll tell you what, Mr. Robert Armstrong, as I find your name to be, sir; if you beat women at talking, my lord! you’re a clever chap.”

Robert laughed.  “I give in at the first mile.”

“Don’t think much of women—­is that it, sir?”

“I’m glad to say I don’t think of them at all.”

“Do you think of one woman, now, Mr. Robert Armstrong?”

“I’d much rather think of two.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“It’s safer.”

“Now, I don’t exactly see that,” said Anthony.

“You set one to tear the other,” Robert explained.

“You’re a Grand Turk Mogul in your reasonings of women, Mr. Robert Armstrong.  I hope as your morals are sound, sir?”

They were on the road to church, but Robert could not restrain a swinging outburst.

He observed that he hoped likewise that his morals were sound.

“Because,” said Anthony, “do you see, sir, two wives—­”

“No, no; one wife,” interposed Robert.  “You said ‘think about;’ I’d ‘think about’ any number of women, if I was idle.  But the woman you mean to make your wife, you go to at once, and don’t ‘think about’ her or the question either.”

“You make sure of her, do you, sir?”

“No:  I try my luck; that is all.”

“Suppose she won’t have ye?”