Blanche leant up alongside her stook and Vassie sat watching her, while
Judy, who had seen a wistful look on Phoebe's baby face, drew her into
such superficial personal talk as she could best compass.

"When do you go back to London?" was Vassie's abrupt and not very happy
opening.

"Why, I don't know ... it all depends," answered Blanche, her beautiful
low voice sounding very rich after Vassie's hard tones. "You've never
been to London, have you, Vassie? I may call you Vassie, mayn't I?"

"I've never been further than Plymouth."

"You must come to London some day with me," said Blanche. She had no
intention of spending all her days at Cloom, and she wished to win over
this sulky beauty to her side. Vassie looked doubtfully at her, but
began to thaw. London ... it meant all of hope and the future to Vassie.

"I would dearly love to," she said. "I suppose you know it very well,
like I know Penzance. I don't go even to Plymouth very often, and of
course it's not London. The people are rather common. I daresay there's
all sorts in London, but I suppose you know a lot of families up there?"

"A good many," said Blanche casually. She was pleased at the signs of a
thaw; she was one of those women who are as eager to stand well with
their own sex as with men and take as much care to ensure it.

"You would do well in London, Vassie," she went on, fixing her eyes on
the girl after a habit she had, and which always gave the impression