And Mr. Tinker was therefore in high dudgeon when he spoke to Dorothy on the subject.
“Does that Tom Pinder live at Garside’s yet?” he asked.
Dorothy opened her eyes in wonderment. It was the first time she remembered her uncle to have so much as mentioned Tom’s name to her.
“I believe so, off and on. But I think Lucy Garside, Ben’s daughter, told me they see very little of him except on Sunday night. He seems to spend both day and night at his mill. Lucy says he does the work of three men.”
“You seem to be very intimate with these Garsides. ‘Lucy’ comes very pat to your lips. Do you see much of them? Do you ever meet this Pinder there?”
“Oh, yes, sometimes.”
“I think you might remember you are my niece. Such people as we are not fit associates for the Garsides; still less for their lodger.”
“Law! uncle, what have they done now? I’ve known Lucy ever since I could toddle almost.”
“That may be. It’s your aunt’s fault, I suppose. I can’t attend to everything. And now your aunt’s illness keeps her at Harrogate you do pretty much as you like, I suppose.”
“When the cat’s away the mice will play,” thought Dorothy; but only thought it.