Sylvia herself had been rather put out by Philip's way of coming to

her. 'It made her look so silly,' she thought; and 'what for must he

make a sight of himself, coming among the market folk in

that-a-way'; and when he took to admiring her hat, she pulled out

the flowers in a pet, and threw them down, and trampled them under

foot.

'What for art thou doing that, Sylvie?' said her mother. 'The

flowers is well enough, though may-be thy hat might ha' been

stained.' 'I don't like Philip to speak to me so,' said Sylvia, pouting.

'How?' asked her mother.

But Sylvia could not repeat his words. She hung her head, and looked

red and pre-occupied, anything but pleased. Philip had addressed his

first expression of personal admiration at an unfortunate time.

It just shows what different views different men and women take of

their fellow-creatures, when I say that Hester looked upon Philip as

the best and most agreeable man she had ever known. He was not one

to speak of himself without being questioned on the subject, so his

Haytersbank relations, only come into the neighborhood in the last

year or two, knew nothing of the trials he had surmounted, or the

difficult duties he had performed. His aunt, indeed, had strong

faith in him, both from partial knowledge of his character, and

because he was of her own tribe and kin; but she had never learnt

the small details of his past life. Sylvia respected him as her

mother's friend, and treated him tolerably well as long as he

preserved his usual self-restraint of demeanour, but hardly ever

thought of him when he was absent.

Now Hester, who had watched him daily for all the years since he had

first come as an errand-boy into Foster's shop--watching with quiet,

modest, yet observant eyes--had seen how devoted he was to his

master's interests, had known of his careful and punctual

ministration to his absent mother's comforts, as long as she was

living to benefit by his silent, frugal self-denial.

His methodical appropriation of the few hours he could call his

own was not without its charms to the equally methodical Hester;

the way in which he reproduced any lately acquired piece of

knowledge--knowledge so wearisome to Sylvia--was delightfully

instructive to Hester--although, as she was habitually silent, it

would have required an observer more interested in discovering her

feelings than Philip was to have perceived the little flush on the

pale cheek, and the brightness in the half-veiled eyes whenever he

was talking. She had not thought of love on either side. Love was a

vanity, a worldliness not to be spoken about, or even thought about.

Once or twice before the Robsons came into the neighbourhood, an

idea had crossed her mind that possibly the quiet, habitual way in

which she and Philip lived together, might drift them into matrimony

at some distant period; and she could not bear the humble advances

which Coulson, Philip's fellow-lodger, sometimes made. They seemed

to disgust her with him.




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