” “I was turned shortly after the Pestilence, the plague that they call the Black Death. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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