"Yon sort o' thing's best answered right off."
For a moment or two May put her hand to her face. "Eh, but what a pity!" she murmured, after a while. "What does it matter whose brass fetches him home?"
"It matters to me."
"It matters a deal more that you're breaking your heart----"
"Nay, then, I'm not! ... Ay, well, then, what if I be?"
"Let me get the brass right off!" May said, in a coaxing tone. "Let me,--do now! Send it to him to-day."
"Nay."
"You've got it into your head he's different, but I'll swear you're wrong! Different in looks, maybe, but he'll be none the worse for that. He always framed to be a fine figure of a man when he was set. You'd be as throng wi' him as a clockie hen wi' a pot egg."
Sarah snorted scorn, but her face softened a little.
"He's forty, but I'll be bound he hasn't changed. I'll be bound he's nobbut the same merry lad inside."