"She mun ha' been rarely keen to come across so late. Was it summat or other she wanted you to do?"
"Ay," Sarah said firmly, "but I couldn't see my way. I tellt her so this morning when I see her in town."
"Summat about your eyes, likely?" he enquired nervously, blowing hard.
"Losh save us, no! It was nowt to do wi' that."
"Will was rarely put out when I tellt him what doctor had said," Simon went on. "He was right sorry, he was, and real anxious to do what he could."
"Ay, he's kind, is Will. He's a right good friend. But I won't take owt I can help from him, all the same."
"Because o' yon woman of his?" Simon asked angrily, stumbling to his feet. He threw a last glance at the fire, and saw that it seemed resigned to its now evident fate. He was sorry for Sarah, and guiltily conscious of his own relief, but the thought of Eliza whipped his mind to rage. This was nothing new, though, either to man or wife, after the usual meeting at the end of the week. However long they had held their tongues from her name, it was suddenly out, and the air was vibrating at once with the rising tremolo of their hate.
"Nay, then, what's yon besom to do wi' it, any way round? Will's money's his own, I reckon, and he can do as he likes. Happen you'll choose to see sense about it come Judgment Day, but not afore!"
"A farmer's wife addles half his brass,--we all know that. You can't touch a man wi'out laying a finger on his folks."
"A deal Eliza's done for him," Simon scoffed, "barrin' giving him best of her tongue! I'll be bound you'd never think twice about t'brass if you and Eliza was friends. It's this spite as there is atween you as sets you taking things amiss. Eliza would likely ha' been no worse than most, if you hadn't made sure she was always wanting a slap!"