Lydia also was quieter than usual; her eyes often wandered from her work to Thyrza.

At last she leaned forward and said: 'What are you thinking of, Blue-eyes ?' Thyrza drew a deep sigh.
'I don't know, Lyddy.

It's so hot, I don't feel able to do anything.' 'But you're always thinking and thinking.

What is it that troubles you ?' 'I feel dull.' 'Why don't you like to go out with Mr.Ackroyd ?' Lydia asked.
'Why do you so much want me to, Lyddy ?' 'Because he thinks a great deal of you, and it would be nice if you got to like him.' 'But I shan't, never;--I know I shan't.' 'Why not, dear ?' 'I don't _dislike_ him, but he mustn't get to think it's any thing else.

I'll go out with him if you'll go as well,' she added, fixing her eyes on Lydia's.
The latter bent to pick up a reel of cotton.
'We'll see when to-morrow comes,' she said.
Silence again fell between them, whilst Lydia's fingers worked rapidly.
The evening drew on.