But so it was, though fifteen years separated us there’s little doubt Jenny loved me very well afore Tom Bond appeared.  Because I’d never loved before I saw her, and even an elderly man—­and a butler’s always elderly by virtue of his calling—­has a charm to the female mind if she knows he’s never loved before.  In me Jenny saw a well-set-up and personable party, inclined a thought to a full body, but smart and active, clean-shaven and spotlessly clean every way, with brown eyes and a serious disposition, yet a nice taste for a seemly bit of fun.  My hair was black and kept sleek and short, of course, and my voice was slow and deep, and my natural way of approaching all women most dignified, whether they belonged to the kitchen or the drawing-room.  And, of course, she well knew I was a snug man and her worldly fortune would be made if she came to me.  That was what I had to offer, while for her part she was a high-spirited thing and good as gold, aged twenty-five, with a cheerful nature and a great art for taking what pleasure life had to offer the second kitchen-maid at Oakshotts, which weren’t very much.  But she never groused about her hard career, or was sorry for herself, or anything like that.  I liked her character and I liked her good sense and I much liked her nice and musical voice; and if she’d been educated, she’d have shone among the highest by reason of her back answers, which I never knew equalled.  Not that she had any chances in that direction with me, because I’m not a man to let my inferiors joke with me, though none knows how to put ’em in their place quicker than I do.

Her eyes were betwixt blue and grey and sometimes favoured one colour and sometimes t’other, and her hair was a light brown and her figure inclined to the slim.  But she was very near about five foot eight—­two inches shorter than me—­and of an amazing activity and enjoying most perfect health.  Her home was in Little Silver, which is our village; and only poverty and the need for work had took her out of it.  There she tended her widowed father, and he had such a passion for the girl, her being his only one, that ’twas only the shadow of the Union Workhouse ever steeled him to part from her.  But she saw him oftener than her day out and would many a time run like a lapwing the mile to his cottage, so as he should have a glimpse of her.  And it was her wages that helped the man to carry on.  He hated her working at Oakshotts and prayed ceaselessly to her to come back and starve along with him, for he was a very unreasonable fashion of man—­a dog-like man with one idea and one worship and one religion, you may say.  In fact he lived for Jenny alone, and when I came to be acquaint with him, I feared it was to be war to the knife between us.  He always proved queer and difficult, and nought but my great love for Jenny would have made me tolerate a man like Joshua Owlet for a moment.