"Thou looks very happy, Phyllis," said the squire to her, as they both
sat by the fire that night.
"I am very happy, uncle."
"Thou beats me! I told t' rector where ta had gone to-day, and he said
it were a varry singular thing that thou should take such an obligation
on thee. He said t' terms of it would do for t' varry strictest o'
Roman Catholic orders."
"Do you not think, uncle, that Protestants should be as strict
regarding personal holiness as Catholics?"
"Nay, I know nowt about it, dearie. I wish women were a' like thee,
though. They'd be a deal better to live wi'. I like religion in a
woman, it's a varry reliable thing. I wish Antony hed hed his senses
about him, and got thee to wed him. Eh! but I would have been a happy
father!"
"Uncle, dear--you see--I love somebody else."
"Well I nivver! Thee! Why thou's too young! When did ta begin to think
o' loving any body?"
"When I was a little girl John Millard and I loved each other. I don't
know when I began to love him, I always loved him."
"What is ta talking about? Such nonsense!"
"Love is not nonsense, uncle. You remember the old English song you
like so much:
"'O 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love
That makes the world go round'"
"Now be quiet wi' thee. It's nowt o' t' sort. Songs and real life are
varry different things.
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