Her mother's eye caught the look and the change, and knew what both meant as well as if Sylvia had spoken out.
'Thursday se'nnight,' said she.

'I'll be rare and strong by then, and Sylvie shall go play hersen; she's been nurse-tending long enough.' 'You're but weakly yet,' said Philip shortly; he did not intend to say it, but the words seemed to come out in spite of himself.
'A said as our lass should come, God willin', if she only came and went, an' thee goin' on sprightly, old 'ooman.

An' a'll turn nurse-tender mysen for t' occasion, 'special if thou can stand t' good honest smell o' whisky by then.

So, my lass, get up thy smart clothes, and cut t' best on 'em out, as becomes a Preston.

Maybe, a'll fetch thee home, an' maybe Philip will convoy thee, for Nanny Corney bade thee to t' merry-making, as well.