Meanwhile, under Sabina's judicious management, the farm prospered. Neither cared to spend, the one because she had no wants, the other because what he desired could not be bought. With every year the bank stocking grew heavier, also the man's heart; and every year found his thoughts fixed more bitterly upon his disappointment. Sabina saw but without understanding. Her man was moody, foolish too with his perpetual harping on his rights, but she was not thereby alienated, for, wise or unreasonable, he was her man. Though she envied Tom his houseful of daughters and Constantine his big sons, her own lack left her the more leisure to care for her husband's comfort. The standard of living at Wastralls was higher than that of the surrounding farms. Byron ate according to his fancy and lay soft; was given indeed those things to which he was indifferent, and denied that after which he hungered.
"I'm kep' like a prize bullock," he said morosely, "when what I want is to be workin' and doin' for meself."
"Well, my dear, 'oo told you not to work? There's plenty to do, there's that four-acre field, why don't yer go and plough up that, 'stead of in 'ere mumpin' about?"
"As though I was yer 'ind?"
"What, still wantin' to be maister?"
"Iss, an' shall be till I die."
"Now look 'ere. If you want money to buy Polnevas you can 'av it, but Wastralls you will never 'av."
"Well, if I can't 'av Wastralls I won't 'av nothing; but you mark my words"—he bent towards her and brought one hand with a thump into the palm of the other—"if I can't 'av it by 'itch, I will by crook."
"Not so long as I live then, any'ow."
Byron was slightly underhung, a formation which gives the face a look of strength and purpose. "We shall see, some day, which of us is the strongest of the two."