Why don't you and your son make up your minds without more ado to let your granddaughter go out to service?
You've been here all your lives; I don't want to see you go." The least touch of color invaded the old man's carved and grayish face.
"Askin' your pardon," he said, "my son sticks by his girl, and I sticks by my son!" "Oh! very well; you know your own business, Gaunt.

I spoke for your good." A faint smile curled the corners of old Gaunt's mouth downward beneath his gray moustaches.
"Thank you kindly," he said.
Malloring raised a finger to his cap and passed on.

Though he felt a longing to stride his feelings off, he did not increase his pace, knowing that the old man's eyes were following him.

But how pig-headed they were, seeing nothing but their own point of view! Well, he could not alter his decision.

They would go at the June quarter--not a day before, nor after.
Passing Tryst's cottage, he noticed a 'fly' drawn up outside, and its driver talking to a woman in hat and coat at the cottage doorway.