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Mrs。 Crackenthorp—a small blinking woman； who fidgeted
incessantly with her lace； ribbons； and gold chain； turning her
head about and making subdued noises； very much like a guinea…
pig that twitches its nose and soliloquises in all company
indiscriminately—now blinked and fidgeted towards the Squire；
and said； “Oh no—no offence。”
This emphatic compliment of the Squire’s to Nancy was felt by
others besides Godfrey to have a diplomatic significance； and her
father gave a slight additional erectness to his back； as he looked
across the table at her with complacent gravity。 That grave and
orderly senior was not going to bate a jot of his dignity by seeming
elated at the notion of a match between his family and the
Squire’s： he was gratified by any honour paid to his daughter； but
he must see an alteration in several ways before his consent would
be vouchsafed。 His spare but healthy person； and high…featured；
firm face； that looked as if it had never been flushed by excess； was
in strong contrast； not only with the Squire’s； but with the
appearance of the Raveloe farmers generally—in accordance with
a favourite saying of his own； that “breed was stronger than
pasture。”
“Miss Nancy’s wonderful like what her mother was； though；
isn’t she； Kimble？” said the stout lady of that name； looking round
for her husband。
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But Dr。 Kimble （country apothecaries in old days enjoyed that
title without authority of diploma）； being a thin and agile man； was
flitting about the room with his hands in his pockets； making
himself agreeable to his feminine patients； with medical
impartiality； and being welcomed everywhere as a doctor by
hereditary right—not one of those miserable apothecaries who
canvass for practice in strange neighbourhoods； and spend all
their income in starving their one horse； but a man of substance；
able to keep an extravagant table like the best of his patients。 Time
out of mind the Raveloe doctor had been a Kimble； Kimble was
inherently a doctor’s name； and it was difficult to contemplate
firmly the melancholy fact that the actual Kimble had no son； so
that his practice might one day be handed over to a successor with
the incongruous name of Taylor or Johnson。 But in that case the
wiser people in Raveloe would employ Dr。 Blick of Flitton—as less
unnatural。
“Did you speak to me； my dear？” said the authentic doctor；
coming quickly to his wife’s side； but； as if foreseeing that she
would be too much out of breath to repeat her remark； he went on
immediately； “Ha； Miss Priscilla； the sight of you revives the taste
of that super…excellent pork…pie。 I hope the batch isn’t near an
end。”
“Yes； indeed； it is； doctor；” said Priscilla； “but I’ll answer for it
the next shall be as good。 My pork…pies don’t turn out well by
chance。”
“Not as your doctoring does； eh； Kimble？—because folks forget
to take your physic； eh？” said the Squire； who regarded physic
and doctors as many loyal churchmen regard the Church and the
clergy—tasting a joke against them when he was in health； but
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impatiently eager for their aid when anything was the matter with
him。 He tapped his box； and looked round with a triumphant
laugh。
“Ah； she has a quick wit； my friend Priscilla has；” said the
doctor； choosing to attribute the epigram to a lady rather than
allow a brother…in…law that advantage over him。 “She saves a little
pepper to sprinkle over her talk—that’s the reason why she never
puts too much into her pies。 There’s my wife； now； she never has
an answer at her tongue’s end； but if I offend her； she’s sure to
scarify my throat with black pepper the next day； or else give me
the colic with watery greens。 That’s an awful tit…for…tat。” Here the
vivacious doctor made a pathetic grimace。
“Did you ever hear the like？” said Mrs。 Kimble； laughing above
her double chin with much good…humour； aside to Mrs。
Crackenthorp； who blinked and nodded； and amiably intended to
smile； but the intention lost itself in small twitchings and noises。
“I suppose that’s the sort of tit…for…tat adopted in your
profession； Kimble； if you’ve a grudge against a patient；” said the
Rector。
“Never do have a grudge against our patients；” said Mr。
Kimble； “except when they leave us； and then； you see； we haven’t
the chance of prescribing for ’em。 Ha； Miss Nancy；” he continued；
suddenly skipping to Nancy’s side； “you won’t forget your
promise？ You’re to save a dance for me； you know。”
“Come； come； Kimble； don’t you be too for’ard；” said the
Squire。 “Give the young uns fair…play。 There’s my son Godfrey’ll
be wanting to have a round with you if you run off with Miss
Nancy。 He’s bespoke her for the first dance； I’ll be bound。 Eh； sir！
what do you say？” he continued； throwing himself backward； and
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looking at Godfrey。 “Haven’t you asked Miss Nancy to open the
dance with you？”
Godfrey； sorely uncomfortable under this significant insistence
about Nancy； and afraid to think where it would end by the time
his father had set his usual hospitable example of drinking before
and after supper； saw no course open but to turn to Nancy and
say； with as little awkwardness as possible—“No； I’ve not asked
her yet； but I hope she’ll consent—if somebody else hasn’t been
before me。”
“No； I’ve not engaged myself；” said Nancy； quietly； though
blushingly。 （If Mr。 Godfrey found