“Aw tell yo’, Ben, Faith thought more of George Mellor’s little finger nor of all yo’r big body. Aye an’ still thinks. He’s her hero. Her brother stuffed her head wi’ such a pack o’ nonsense that she thinks George the finest man that ever lived, and yo’ not much better nor a coward for deserting him. She frets because he doesn’t come here, and there’s no tellin’ what mak’ o’ folly her silly fancy mayn’t lead her to.”
“But George cares nowt for her,” I said.
“What’s that to do wi’ it? Let a felly go sighing an’ pinin’ after a wench—an’ it’s long odds she’ll laugh i’ his long face. Let him seem beyond her reach an’ it’s just as likely she’ll break her heart longing for him.”
“Does she know about Horsfall?”
“Of course she does.”
“What, all?”
“Aye, all. I took care she should.”
“Well?”
“Well, she doesn’t believe a word of it.”
CHAPTER XI.