Once when she somewhat hesitatingly suggested that he should come to her sitting-room for a little after supper he refused, not churlishly, but very decidedly.
"I like to have my pipe and go to bed," he said.
"But you can bring your pipe, too," she said.
"No, thanks," said Jeff.

"I always smoke in the kitchen or on the step." She said no more, but went up to her room, and presently Jeff, moodily puffing at his briar in the porch, heard the notes of her piano overhead.

She played softly for some little time, and Jeff's pipe went out before it was finished--a most rare occurrence with him.
Only when the piano ceased did he awake to the fact, and then half-savagely he knocked out its half-consumed contents and turned inwards.
He found Granny Grimshaw standing in the passage in a listening attitude, and paused to bid her good-night.
"Be you going to bed, Master Jeff ?" she said.

"My dear, did you ever hear the like?
She plays like an angel." He smiled somewhat grimly, without replying.
The old woman came very close to him.

"Master Jeff, why don't you go and make love to her?
Don't you know she's waiting for you ?" "Is she ?" said Jeff, but he said it in the tone of one who does not require an answer, and with the words very abruptly he passed her by.
Granny Grimshaw shook her head and sighed, "Ah, dear!" after his retreating form.
It was a few days after this that a letter came for Doris, one morning, bearing the Squire's crest.