She _knew_ what it was, the grey silk dress.

That she was sure Ruth would never accept.
No one henceforward could induce Jemima to enter into conversation with Mr Farquhar.

She suspected manoeuvring in the simplest actions, and was miserable in this constant state of suspicion.

She would not allow herself to like Mr Farquhar, even when he said things the most after her own heart.

She heard him, one evening, talking with her father about the principles of trade.