ohn Cadman a woman, and one flesh with his wife! Pretty news
that would be for my missus!"

CHAPTER XIV

SERIOUS CHARGES

"Stephen, if it was anybody else, you would listen to me in a moment,"
said Mrs. Anerley to her lord, a few days after that little interview in
the Bempton Lane; "for instance, if it was poor Willie, how long would
you be in believing it? But because it is Mary, you say 'pooh! pooh!'
And I may as well talk to the old cracked churn."

"First time of all my born days," the farmer answered, with a pleasant
smile, "that ever I was resembled to a churn. But a man's wife ought to
know best about un."

"Stephen, it is not the churn--I mean you; and you never should attempt
to ride off in that sort of way. I tell you Mary hath a mischief on her
mind; and you never ought to bring up old churns to me. As long as I
can carry almost anything in mind, I have been considered to be full of
common-sense. And what should I use it upon, Captain Anerley, without it
was my own daughter?"

The farmer was always conquered when she called him "Captain Anerley."
He took it to point at him as a pretender, a coxcomb fond of titles, a
would-be officer who took good care to hold aloof from fighting. And he
knew in his heart that he loved to be called "Captain Anerley" by every
one who meant it.

"My dear," he said, in a tone of submission, and with a look that
grieved her, "the knowledge of such things is with you. I can not enter
into young maids' minds, any more than command a company."

"Stephen, you could do both, if you chose, better than ten of eleven
who do it. For, Stephen, you have a very tender mind, and are not at all
like a churn, my dear. That was my manner of speech, you ought to know,
because from my youngest days I had a crowd of imagination. You remember
that, Stephen, don't you?"

"I remember, Sophy, that in the old time you never resembled me to a
churn, let alone a cracked one. You used to christen me a pillar, and
a tree, and a rock, and a polished corner; but there, what's the odds,
when a man has done his duty? The names of him makes no difference."

"'Twist you and me, my dear," she said, "nothing can make any
difference. We know one another too well for that. You are all that I
ever used to call you, before I knew better about you, and when I used
to dwell upon your hair and your smile. You know what I used to say of
them, now, Stephen?"

"Most complimentary--highly complimentary! An