“What she wants, I can’t make out,” he said; “and what that good lady there, or somebody, made mention of—­how she manages to dress as she do!  I can understand a little goin’ a great way, if you’re clever in any way; but I’m at my tea”—­Anthony laid his hand out as to exhibit a picture.  “I ain’t a complaining man, and be young, if you can, I say, and walk about and look at shops; but, I’m at my tea:  I come home rather tired there’s the tea-things, sure enough, and tea’s made, and, maybe, there’s a shrimp or two; she attends to your creature comforts.  When everything’s locked up and tight and right, I’m gay, and ask for a bit of society:  well, I’m at my tea:  I hear her foot thumping up and down her bed-room overhead:  I know the meaning of that:  I’d rather hear nothing:  down she runs:  I’m at my tea, and in she bursts.”—­Here followed a dramatic account of Dahlia’s manner of provocation, which was closed by the extinction of his pipe.

The farmer, while his mind still hung about thousands of pounds and a certain incomprehensible division of them to produce a distinct intelligible total, and set before him the sum of Anthony’s riches, could see that his elder daughter was behaving flightily and neglecting the true interests of the family, and he was chagrined.  But Anthony, before he entered the house, had assured him that Dahlia was well, and that nothing was wrong with her.  So he looked at Mrs. Sumfit, who now took upon herself to plead for Dahlia:  a young thing, and such a handsome creature! and we were all young some time or other; and would heaven have mercy on us, if we were hard upon the young, do you think?  The motto of a truly religious man said, try ’em again.  And, maybe, people had been a little hard upon Dahlia, and the girl was apt to take offence.  In conclusion, she appealed to Rhoda to speak up for her sister.  Rhoda sat in quiet reserve.

She was sure her sister must be justified in all she did but the picture of the old man coming from his work every night to take his tea quite alone made her sad.  She found herself unable to speak, and as she did not, Mrs. Sumfit had an acute twinge from her recently trodden foot, and called her some bitter names; which was not an unusual case, for the kind old woman could be querulous, and belonged to the list of those whose hearts are as scales, so that they love not one person devotedly without a corresponding spirit of opposition to another.  Rhoda merely smiled.

By-and-by, the women left the two men alone.

Anthony turned and struck the farmer’s knee.

“You’ve got a jewel in that gal, brother William John.”

“Eh! she’s a good enough lass.  Not much of a manager, brother Tony.  Too much of a thinker, I reckon.  She’s got a temper of her own too.  I’m a bit hurt, brother Tony, about that other girl.  She must leave London, if she don’t alter.  It’s flightiness; that’s all.  You mustn’t think ill of poor Dahly.  She was always the pretty one, and when they know it, they act up to it:  she was her mother’s favourite.”