"He's a very nice gentleman, 'm."
"Treats you well, does he?"
"Well, of course, 'm, he has his ways. But he's always very nice."
"Nice and polite, eh?"
"Yes, 'm. And I'll say this, too: he never tries to take any liberties. No, that he doesn't!"
"And so he has his ways. Is he eccentric?"
"Oh, no, 'm! At least, I don't know what you mean, 'm, I'm sure I don't. He's very particular in some things; but, then, in plenty of things he takes no notice of you, and you can do it or leave it as you choose." Elsie suspected and mildly resented a mere inquisitiveness on the part of Mrs. Arb, and added quickly: "I think this floor's about done."
She wrung a cloth out in the pail at her right hand. The clock below struck its quick, wiry, reverberating note. It kept on striking.
"That's never eleven o'clock!" Mrs. Arb exclaimed, completely aware that it was eleven o'clock. "How time flies when you're hard at it, doesn't it?"
Elsie silently disagreed with this proposition. In her experience of toil she had found that time lagged.