Miriam, anxiously observant, made a different interpretation, and was harassed with a painful conflict of thoughts.
Jacob Bush Bradshaw had no eyes for these trivialities.

He sat in the squared posture of a hearty Englishman, amusing himself with everything they passed on the road self-congratulant on the knowledge and experience he had been storing, joking as often as he spoke.
"The lad Marsh would have uncommonly liked an invitation to come with us to-day," he said, about midway in the drive.

"What precious mischief we could have made by asking him, Hannah!" "There's no room for him, fortunately." "Oh yes; up on the box." His eye twinkled as he looked at Cecily.

She questioned him.
"Where would be the mischief, Mr.Bradshaw ?" "He talks nonsense, my dear," interposed Mrs.Bradshaw.

"Pay no attention to him." Miriam had heard now and then of Clifford Marsh.