'Well, I am rather surprised at it--not at your loving each other in a
brother-and-sister kind of way--but at your finding it so impossible to
fall in love with such a beautiful woman.' Woman! beautiful woman! I
had thought of Phillis as a comely but awkward girl; and I could not
banish the pinafore from my mind's eye when I tried to picture her to
myself. Now I turned, as Mr Holdsworth had done, to look at her again
out of the window: she had just finished her task, and was standing up,
her back to us, holding the basket, and the basin in it, high in air,
out of Rover's reach, who was giving vent to his delight at the
probability of a change of place by glad leaps and barks, and snatches
at what he imagined to be a withheld prize. At length she grew tired of
their mutual play, and with a feint of striking him, and a 'Down,
Rover! do hush!' she looked towards the window where we were standing,
as if to reassure herself that no one had been disturbed by the noise,
and seeing us, she coloured all over, and hurried away, with Rover
still curving in sinuous lines about her as she walked.

'I should like to have sketched her,' said Mr Holdsworth, as he turned
away. He went back to his chair, and rested in silence for a minute or
two. Then he was up again.

'I would give a good deal for a book,' he said. 'It would keep me
quiet.' He began to look round; there were a few volumes at one end of
the shovel-board. 'Fifth volume of Matthew Henry's Commentary,' said
he, reading their titles aloud. 'Housewife's complete Manual; Berridge
on Prayer; L'Inferno--Dante!' in great surprise. 'Why, who reads this?'

'I told you Phillis read it. Don't you remember? She knows Latin and
Greek, too.'

'To be sure! I remember! But somehow I never put two and two together.
That quiet girl, full of household work, is the wonderful scholar,
then, that put you to rout with her questions when you first began to
come here. To be sure, "Cousin Phillis!" What's here: a paper with the
hard, obsolete words written out. I wonder what sort of a dictionary
she has got. Baretti won't tell her all these words. Stay! I have got a
pencil here. I'll write down the most accepted meanings, and save her a
little trouble.'

So he took her book and the paper back to the little round table, and
employed himself in writing explanations and definitions of the words
which had troubled her. I was not sure if he was not taking a liberty:
it did not quite please me, an