Mrs.Leyburn's mind was just now playing the part of spillikins, and the vicar's wife was shaking it viciously, though with occasional qualms as to the lawfulness of the process.
'You think Catherine does care for him ?' resumed Mrs.Leyburn tremulously.
'Well isn't he just the kind of man one would suppose Catherine would like ?' repeated Mrs.Thornburgh, persuasively: 'he is a clergyman, and she likes serious people; and he's sensible and nice and well-mannered.
And then he can talk about books, just like her father used--I'm sure William thinks he knows everything! He isn't as nice-looking as he might be just now, but then that's his hair and his fever, poor man.

And then he isn't hanging about.

He's got a living, and there'd be the poor people all ready, and everything else Catherine likes.

And now I'll just ask you--did you ever see Catherine more--more--_lively_--well, I know that's not just the word, but you know what I mean--than she has been the last fortnight ?' But Mrs.Leyburn only shook her head helplessly.

She did not know in the least what Mrs.Thornburgh meant.