‘Why, lad! what’s been ado? Thou’rt looking as peaked and pined as a Methody preacher after a love-feast, when he’s talked hisself to Death’s door. Thee dost na’ get good milk enow, that’s what it is,—such stuff as Monkshaven folks put up wi’!’
‘No, aunt; I’m quite well. Only I’m a bit put out—vexed like at what I’ve heerd about Sylvie.’
His aunt’s face changed immediately.
‘And whatten folk say of her, next thing?’
‘Oh,’ said Philip, struck by the difference of look and manner in his aunt, and subdued by seeing how instantly she took alarm. ‘It were only my uncle;—he should na’ take a girl like her to a public. She were wi’ him at t’ “Admiral’s Head” upo’ All Souls’ Day—that were all. There were many a one there beside,—it were statute fair; but such a one as our Sylvie ought not to b
