“And, of course, you talked,” I put in.
Mary looked at me sharply and bridled:
“One ’ud think yo’ thowt aw were gi’en to talkin’,” she said.
“Never a woman less so,” I protested—God forgive me.
“Weel, as it happens aw didn’t talk for a guidish bit, for oo’d put mi studyin’ cap on. Th’ more aw looked at th’ matter th’ harder it seems. Mi fust thowt were ’at Mrs. Wrigley had no call to put her spoke i’ th’ wheel. Miriam’s nother chick nor child o’ hern, ’at aw know on. But then it’s weel known ’at she’s so used to managin’ for everyone ’at works at Wrigley Mill, male an’ female, owd an’ young, single an’ wed, ’at it’s a sort o’ second natur’ wi her, an oo cannot help hersen. An’ oo means weel. Yo’ll mind when Ned Thewlis gate that silly young wench o’ Buckley’s into trouble, Mrs. Wrigley n’er rested till oo’d landed ’em both at Saddleworth Church an’ see’d her med an honest woman, an’ nobbut just i’ time.”
“Well, well,” I said impatiently.
“Yo’re gettin’ as bad as yar Jim,” said Mary, eyeing me coldly. “Yo’ didn’t used to be so. Aw rekkon yo’d better get used to lettin’ a woman say her say, if yo’ want to poo’ on wi’ yo’r wire, choose who she be, as weel as aw sud like.”
I groaned in spirit, and Mary continued her monologue, which long experience should have taught me was but her way of thinking aloud; so that to those side issues which flit across every one’s mind in discussing any subject, and which trained thinkers and practised speakers dismiss as irrelevant from their thoughts, Mary must needs give the spoken word.
“So, as I were, sayin’, yo’ munnot be hard o’ Mrs. Wrigley. It’s perhaps noan payin’ yo a gret compliment to think, as oo happen does, ’at Miriam’s throwin’ hersen away on yo’, an’ might do better for hersen, if oo’d haulf th’ chances her feyther’s dowter owt to ha’ had.”
The hot blood rushed to my face, and I sprang to my feet.